The Land of Misfit Fics
by PteraWaters
Summary: A series of UNFINISHED Puck/Kurt fics that I needed to post to get out of my hair. Chapters are all unrelated, with varying ratings, so please read the headers. All fics up for adoption upon approval.
1. Orphan 1  Masseuse AU Rated R

**Title**: Orphan #1: Masseuse AU  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Rom-com  
><strong>Author's note(s)<strong>: First in a series of Puckurt fics that I've started, but been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Noah Puckerman, corporate executive, had a standing appointment for a massage every Tuesday afternoon. What happens when his regular masseuse calls in sick?

* * *

><p>Beep-beep! Beep-beep!<p>

Noah Puckerman sighed as he lifted his head from his arms and sat back in his desk chair. If anyone would have told him when he was a teenaged punk that he'd be spending seventy hours a week behind a desk during the prime years of his life, he would have laughed and flipped them off.

Beep-beep!

Noah jabbed the speakerphone button and coughed, "What, Artie? I'm still working on that presentation for tomorrow. I thought I told you to leave me the hell alone."

"Mr. Puckerman," Noah's receptionist chirped, his voice entirely too grating for - god, was it really two in the afternoon? Had he even remembered to eat lunch? "Your appointment is here to see you."

"What appointment?" Puck demanded, pulling up his calendar. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday, sir. Your standing Tuesday appointment?" Artie's voice was entirely too amused, and Noah didn't even want to know why.

Tuesday... Tuesday afternoon... "The masseuse!" Noah remembered. God, a massage was really what he needed right now. It would be an hour away from his desk and away from the stress of trying to pitch a new music distribution platform to his bosses, and if Santana was up for it, he'd be able to get his rocks off, too. God, Noah hadn't gotten off since last Tuesday, when Santana earned a generous tip. "Yeah," he told Artie. "Send her in. And don't disturb me for-"

"An hour," Artie replied lightly, like he was about to start giggling. What the fuck was that about? "I know, sir."

Pushing away from his desk for the first time in four hours, Noah groaned and stretched, calling, "Come in!" when Santana knocked.

Only it wasn't Santana who opened the door. It was a man who was much taller than Santana, pale, with long, thin limbs, dark hair, and pretty, light-colored eyes. He was carrying a fold-up massage table, just like Santana's and he looked nervous, but like he was trying to cover it up with a serene expression.

"Who are you?" Noah asked, completely thrown off. He did not need this shit right now. "Where's Santana?"

"I'm Santana's replacement," the man replied, his voice oddly pitched, high and almost breathy. "Kurt Hummel. She's sick. She was supposed to call you and tell you..."

Shaking his head, Puck punched the speakerphone button again and growled through clenched teeth, "Artie! Did you take a message from my regular masseuse and fail to give it to me?"

There was no answer forthcoming, so Noah decided to kick his assistant to the curb. As soon as he had the time to train a new one, which at this rate was going to be never.

"I-" Kurt spoke up, pulling his dark pea coat closer against his frame, "I can go. I mean, I understand. No hard feelings, I'll just..."

Crap. The guy must have thought Noah was put off by his gender, rather than the fact that Kurt was another new person in Noah's life that he'd had to break in and get used to. Plus, even if the dude did practically scream 'gay' there was no way he'd agree to that happy ending Noah had been looking forward to.

"Nah, whatever," Noah said, waving the guy back as he headed for his bathroom to strip. "Stay. You're the same rate, right?"

"Yes," Kurt replied with a relieved sigh just before Noah nodded and closed the bathroom door, glad his robe was still hanging on the back of the door. Hey, there were _some_ perks to practically living at work.

When Noah got back into his office, the door was closed and Kurt was waiting beside his table. He was wearing a mixture of white and beige, like Santana always did, but he'd made the pseudo-uniform his own with a linen scarf around his neck and a brown belt at the waist of his white skinny jeans. As much as Noah hated to admit it to himself, this dude knew how to dress, which was more shit Noah didn't really need to deal with right now.

This project that he'd brought down on himself, his mom's new boyfriend, Sarah's trouble with the cops because of said mom's boyfriend, and now questioning his sexuality because Noah had slept with one dude he met at a party about a month ago and now this guy, Kurt, shows up, looking hot and ready to touch Noah all over and he's supposed to keep it from getting hard? One man can only do so much.

"Oh, there you are," Kurt smiled, standing up a little straighter and shifting from foot to foot. "Would you lie down on the table? Please?"

"Jesus," Noah smirked as he approached the other side of the table, "what's got you so jumpy, man?"

"I just..." Kurt sighed, holding up the sheet and looking away so Noah could drop his robe and lay down under the sheet. "Santana gave me a rundown of all her clients but her description of you differs vastly from reality."

"Yeah?" Noah asked as he laid face down. "How's that?"

Kurt settled the sheet over Noah's lower back and legs, saying, "Oh, I guess I thought you'd be older, and not so... I thought you'd be older."

Turning to see Kurt's face, Noah was stoked to see that the guy was blushing. Yeah, that's right. Noah Puckerman was desirable goods, even if he wasn't putting his looks to good use lately. "Maybe I'm older than I look," he replied before settling down on the table, with his face in the hole at the top.

Noah was sure that Kurt said something under his breath, but then he breathed louder, "Let's get started," and pulled the sheet gingerly down to expose Noah's upper back. After the first few, hesitant touches, Kurt's hands began to feel more like Santana's – strong and sure against Noah's tight muscles, easing away the pain and stress of living his life.

Kurt had just worked his way down one of Noah's arms, and was switching to the other when Noah noticed that the guy was humming. The tune seemed familiar, but Noah was too relaxed to ask about it. Only when Kurt started on another song (and moved to Noah's scalp with those awesome fingers) did Noah ask, "What are you humming?"

Pulling his hands away, Kurt squeaked, "Oh, was I? I'm sorry!"

"Don't be," Noah insisted, pulling his head up to look at the guy. He really was attractive when he was blushing, wasn't he? Crap. Noah wasn't going to think these thoughts. Not at all. Music, that's what he was going to ask about. "I just thought I recognized it."

"Oh, just an album my brother has been playing over and over again," Kurt insisted, moving closer, but still keeping his hands to himself like he couldn't stand to touch Noah if he was going to watch. "I don't remember what it's called, but it's relaxing as long as you don't know the lyrics. Otherwise, it's depressing."

Noah laughed, grinning at Kurt before settling back down on the table. "You live with your brother?" he asked, face down in the table.

"For now," the masseuse replied, strong hands working the back of Noah's neck. "I love him, but he's kind of a tool. Plus, he always has his obnoxious girlfriend over and I'm getting sick of hearing her high notes, if you know what I mean."

Noah laughed again, really starting to like this guy. Which was a problem. A big problem. A hard problem, at the moment. Damn it.

"Alright, turn over," Kurt insisted, and Noah felt himself blush.

"Why?"

"Doesn't … I mean, Santana said you wanted …"

"She told you about that?" Noah cried, surprised and more than a little nervous. He'd thought that shit was just between him and Santana – a little off-the-books employer-employee transaction.

"Getting the facial muscles, the sides, the … the pecs, the quads and the feet is included in the full-body price," Kurt explained, and Noah felt like the dumbest man on earth. And he'd shown his stupidity in front of this god damned beautiful guy. "But if you're done, I can pack up a little early."

"No!" Noah cried, needing to keep Kurt from leaving so suddenly. "I'm … I guess Santana skimps or something. I'd like that." And then Noah remembered his problem. "But you might have to give me a minute." He flicked his eyes downward and Kurt's mouth dropped open a little, that blush coloring his cheeks a little.

"Of course," Kurt nodded, turning around like he was afraid of seeing Noah tent the sheets. Or maybe he was afraid Noah would kick his ass for looking. "I mean, it's perfectly common."

"Or so you've heard," Noah guessed, smiling when Kurt's back shrugged at him. Yeah, he'd pegged Kurt as young, but maybe he was a little younger than Noah would have guessed, and if not virginal, then pretty damn close. Man, it was like the universe was dangling this bait in front of his face, and expecting Noah not to do anything about it. With a sigh, he arranged himself on his back, readjusting his junk so it wasn't so obvious and glad he wasn't one of those guys that stuck straight up when he was laying down. "Okay."

He watched Kurt take a deep breath before coming back to the table and putting some more oil on his fingers. "I'll start with your face, if that's okay."

"Yeah," Noah smiled, closing his eyes so the guy wouldn't be so nervous. "That's fine, Kurt."

Delicately, deft fingers worked themselves against Noah's forehead, easing away the strain of staring at his computer for hours on end and making Noah less horny and more sleepy, thank god. Then Kurt moved around to work on the jaw muscles on either side of Noah's face and Kurt said, "You know, you've got some dry skin here. I could recommend a good post-shave moisturizer to fix that up for you."

Noah opened his eyes to reply, but found Kurt's face closer than he expected it to be. It made his heart beat in overtime as he met the guy's eyes and his lungs catch a sharp breath, taking in Kurt's scent, which Noah just realized was even more appealing than the blush mottled across his neck. "Sorry," Kurt whispered, backing away and clearing his throat. "I didn't mean-"

"It's cool," Noah whispered back, wanting to reach out and touch Kurt, hold him and kiss him and grind up into him until he couldn't even remember his own name. But that sort of thing could net him a lawsuit if Kurt wasn't interested in return. "Really. In case you didn't notice, I need all the help I can get, skin-care wise."

Kurt took a few beats and then laughed, his smile wide as he nodded and moved down to Puck's shoulder and bicep. Things got more difficult when Kurt moved his way up from Noah's feet to his thighs. Shit, he was so close. Just a little further up, and Noah knew Kurt would get him to a happy place within a minute. He had such deft, strong fingers, and it was like Kurt knew exactly how to touch him to set Noah's entire body on fire, all without touching the most important parts.

On Noah's left quad, Kurt hit a knot of muscle that must have been there from his nervous tick of bouncing his leg during meetings, and the release of that tension made Noah do the worst. He let out a groan that was dirtier than he would have liked, and didn't miss Kurt's tiny gasp in response. Wondering how far he could push the guy, Noah growled, "Oh, that's good. Right there," and peeked through his lashes to watch Kurt blush all the way from the neckline of his scarf to his scalp. "Mmmm."

"Old injury?" Kurt asked, working his thumbs deeper into the muscle and playing it like he wasn't perfectly aware of what Noah's groan had sounded like.

"Yeah," he replied, not even needing to fake the shallow breaths he was taking as Kurt followed the knotted muscle up and toward the inside of Noah's leg. "Fuck," Noah swore, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the table, facing away from Kurt. "Sorry, dude. I… Jesus, just sorry. I can't ask you to... I know that's not part of your job."

"It's really not," Kurt replied softly behind him. "But my hour's up and …" The guy took a big breath, letting it out slowly as Noah looked over his shoulder at the masseuse, "…I like you."

Noah smiled and grasped the sheet around his waist, standing up and circling the table, stopping just in front of the beautiful man in his office. "Let me take you out, then," he offered. "Tomorrow night. I've got this big presentation for work, and I'll either want to celebrate or forget, and something tells me spending time with you would be good for either."

Smiling down at his hands, Kurt nodded. "That would be nice."

"So you're single, then?" Noah asked, taking a chance and moving a little closer, finally giving in to the urge to touch Kurt and running one hand along the guy's jaw line, ending with his fingers under Kurt's chin, getting him to look up and truly appreciating how blue those baby blues were.

"Yeah," Kurt nodded, giving a surprised noise when Noah crumbled and kissed him.

"Sorry," Noah said, stepping away and hitting himself on the forehead with a closed fist. "I'm standing here practically naked and coming on way too strong. Say you forgive me."

Suddenly Noah had an armful of guy as Kurt wound his arms around the back of Noah's neck and pulled him in for another, deeper kiss. "I forgive you," Kurt whispered, panting almost as heavily as Noah. "And I think I'm going to like you best practically naked."

Then, Kurt pressed a business card into Noah's hand, gathered his things, and left, Noah still standing there stunned, in a sheet, staring at the cell phone number on the card, only looking up when someone cleared his throat at the doorway. Afraid it was one of his bosses, Noah clutched Kurt's sheet closer and looked up, relieved to see it was only Artie, smirking at him.

"Shut up and close the door," Noah demanded, setting Kurt's phone number down on his desk. He stalked over to his bathroom to take a shower with the sound of Artie's laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

><p>When morning rolled around and Noah was getting ready for his nine a.m. presentation, the thought of Kurt's phone number burning a hole in his pocket, was almost too much to bear. Where should he take the guy? How were you supposed to date a guy in the first place? Would he want to be wooed, or would that be patronizing? How far would Kurt let him get on the first date? Had Santana been "sick" on purpose after he told her about that hook-up?<p>

Noah's boss, Will, nodded to him when he entered the meeting room five minutes early. "I looked it over last night," Will said, patting Noah on the back, "and it looks great. I'm sure Sue will love it."

"The last idea Sue liked was shooting Brittany Spears out a cannon to 'set a trend," Noah pointed out dryly. "But it's alright. If I go down in flames today, at least I know I've got a hot piece of ass waiting to go out with me tonight."

"You're dating again?" Will cried with a wide smile and he knew the guy was thinking of Noah's relationship with Quinn, which had imploded about a year ago. "That's great, Noah! Wait, it's not another married woman, is it?"

"No," Noah laughed, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. "It's definitely not a married woman."

Then, Sue Sylvester, head of the entire company, showed up with her two assistants, Becky and Blaine, in tow. Noah was sure she kept them on because they had matching names and were both shorter than her, which was important to the dragon of a woman. "Alright, Puckerman," Sue sneered, taking a seat at the end of the table, Becky on her right hand and Blaine on her left, "show me what you've got."

When Noah finished his presentation, Will beamed, and Sue shrugged, "It's not the worst idea I've ever heard," which Noah knew meant he was celebrating tonight. Just after Sue and her people left the room, Noah had a thought.

Taking long strides to hurry out of the room, Noah caught up and said, "Hey, Blaine? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Make it quick, boys," Sue nodded as she stepped onto the elevator. "I needs my ten o'clock latte, stat!"

After the elevator doors closed, Blaine scoffed,"Thanks. Now _I _have to be the one to get her coffee. What do you want, Puck?"

"Look," Noah said, ignoring his office nickname and pulling Blaine into the kitchenette where there was a little bit of privacy. "You're like, the only gay dude I know."

"And?"

"I'm taking this guy out tonight, and I-"

"Guy?" Blaine laughed, shaking his head. "What? Weren't you just bragging last week how you've slept with all the girls in the Marketing department?"

"So?" Noah shot back, annoyed. Blaine wasn't his favorite person in the company. Not even close. But he needed some advice from an honest-to-god gay dude, and not his own mother. "I've got layers, man. Anyway, how do I treat him, you know? Do I open doors for him and pull back his seat, or do I let him do that shit for himself? C'mon, dude. Except for one hook up three weeks ago, I haven't gotten laid in like, six months."

Shaking his head again, Blaine laughed. "I don't get you at all, Puckerman. But to answer your question, just be nice. Hold open the door if you get there first, but don't rush in front of him and make a big deal about it. Don't pull back his chair. Don't be an ass. You'll be fine."

Noah sighed and nodded, "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

"No," Blaine smirked. "You owe Sue a grande, low-fat, two-pump vanilla, one-pump hazelnut, no whipped cream, scalding hot latte. Got that, or do you need me to write it down?"

Knowing he was fucked if he didn't do this, because Blaine held the keys to the castle or whatever, Noah mumbled, "Write it down," and took the post-it Blaine gave him, wondering how close was the nearest Starbucks.

* * *

><p>When Noah got to the restaurant bar where he was meeting Kurt, he almost turned back around and left. But then he thought about that kiss the guy had planted on him and the sinful things his hands could do and how much he wanted to grab Kurt's hips and bury himself in that ass and, <em>Jesus, calm down, Noah<em>! It was just a date. He could do this.

Noah looked all over and didn't see the man, so he sat at the bar and ordered a rum and coke, taking a painful, but refreshing bite out of the lime that came with it before knocking half of the drink back. He was about to down the rest when someone with a familiar scent sat down next to him and asked, "You're not an alcoholic, are you?"

Choking on his drink a little, Noah shook his head, looking up to smile at Kurt, who looked really good in his dark teal button-down shirt and the dark gray vest that matched his pants. "No," Noah smiled. "Just nervous. Damn, you look hot."

"Thanks," Kurt smiled, blushing again and flagging down the bartender. "Appletini, please."

"I'll need to see your ID, kid," the bartender, a thin Asian-looking guy, demanded.

"Seriously, Mike?" Kurt laughed, pulling a thin wallet out of his back pocket. Oh, Kurt knew the guy. "We're the same age and you know it." Was he an ex or something?

"Gotta ask," Mike replied, nodding his head toward a husky woman at the other end of the bar. "The panther's watching."

Kurt laughed, a sound that Noah absolutely loved, and said, "Oh, dear. Well, here you go, sweetie." After handing over his license, he met Noah's eyes briefly before taking a sharp breath and asking Mike, "How's Tina?"

"As big as a house," Mike replied, handing back the card and nodding at Noah, who felt entirely too relieved that this Mike guy appeared to be straight. "Who's the stud?"

"That's Noah," Kurt smiled, taking his hand and sending this incredible warmth up Noah's arm. "My date."

Mike whistled approvingly and turned to his task making Kurt's drink. After he got it and took a sip, Noah's date looked at him over the brim and said, "Thanks for meeting me here. Finn's got my car, so walking-distance was a must."

"I could have picked you up," Noah insisted, trying to resist touching the guy and failing by taking his hand again. "Next time, I'm picking you up."

"There's already a next time, huh?" Kurt asked with an amused smile, taking another sip of his drink. "Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you, Mr. Puckerman?"

Noah put on his cockiest grin and replied, "Hell yeah. Once you get some of this, babe, you'll only want more."

Instead of swooning, Kurt laughed right in his face.

* * *

><p><em>Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.<em>


	2. Orphan 2 WWII Spies AU Rated T

**Title**: Orphan #2: AU WWII spies  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13 (I think, maybe R)  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Suspense, angst  
><strong>Words<strong>: ~ 7k  
><strong>Author's Note(s)<strong>: Second fic that I've started and been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval. The historical accuracy on this one as it stands can't be very good, since I did very little research, but the set-up is intriguing. This was a fill for a prompt, but I've lost that link...  
><strong>Summary<strong>: It's a dance of desire and will as SS officer Kurt Hummel and resistance fighter Noah Puckerman follow orders to exploit each other for access to wartime secrets.

* * *

><p>Noah Puckerman knew this tavern was the last place on earth he should have wanted to be – hell, he was in direct violation of orders to even be in this part of Berlin – but he had a friend to find. Taking a swallow of his beer, Noah surveyed the crowd again, looking for a weakness. A good two thirds of the men in the bar were SS officers, looking trim in their fitted, stiff uniforms. Noah just had to find one he could get some leverage on. Leverage was how you got information, and information was what he needed to find his friend.<p>

Since Noah had hazel eyes and had always cropped his hair shorter than short he could pass for Italian, or Greek maybe, if he gave the right name, knew the right town (and Noah's commander, William Schuester, made sure he always knew the right information). His childhood friend Rachel wasn't so lucky. She wore her heritage big and bold on her face and her eyes were as dark as midnight, especially when you got her upset. She'd been missing two months and a sickening thought whispered through Noah's head, twisted his gut. What if she was already dead? What if the rumors about the labor camps were true? What if she'd been slaughtered? What if she _hadn't _been?

Noah was lucky that most of his family had emigrated to America after the last war, sending for Noah's mother and his sister just a four years ago. He could have gone with them, should have gone, but he felt the changing of the wind and couldn't leave the only home, the only friends, he'd ever known under the thumb of a mad man.

Jacob Ben Israel went missing first. Not long after the invasion of Poland, he just didn't show up for work at the bank. Noah told him he should have changed his name, but the dumb ass redhead was too stubborn and too stupid to listen. Jacob's mother had yet to be taken, but everyone in the berg knew it was only a matter of time. Noah only showed up in the neighborhood at night, when very few would recognize him and no one who did would report his true name and heritage.

His work with the resistance wasn't fast enough to save Rachel and Schuester wouldn't break plans to go find her. Noah would have to do it on his own.

Noah had almost finished his beer before he saw what he was looking for – a needle in a haystack. Off to the side of the room, a tall, skinny officer about Noah's age, but with a baby face, stood all by himself. He looked sad, red rimming his wide blue eyes, and appeared to be arguing with himself. Oh, it wasn't obvious. The man said nothing aloud and clutched his drink tightly like it would keep him from doing something he would regret. No, what tipped Noah off to the man's state of mind was the way his eyes would wander around the room until suddenly they fell down toward his glass, the man shaking his head until a few minutes later, the cycle started all over again. The longer Noah watched the man from the corner of his eye, the pinker the officer's cheeks became.

What could he be embarrassed about? Could Noah use it to his advantage? What would it take to break this slip of a man into telling Noah where Rachel had been taken? Because Noah was willing to do anything to get her back safe and sound.

A few of the men near the officer called out to him, waving him toward their group, but he declined with a shake of his head and an apologetic hand. Noah thought he read on the man's lips something about, "Waiting for someone," and he wondered what business this stiff stranger might have that kept him in a place he clearly did not want to be.

Five minutes later, after the man felt embarrassed about the room twice more and checked the wall clock three times, things got interesting. A tall, bulky guy stumbled away from his table of friends and staggered across the room, arm knocking the officer's drink from his hands.

The lanky man stood in shock for half a moment before stomping his way out of the tavern, leaving his shattered glass on the floor where it fell. The big guy called an apology after the officer, but Noah knew it was too late. The man was up the stairs and gone. Afraid of losing what could possibly be his only way of finding Rachel, Noah scrambled to leave enough money for his beer and high-tail it after the strange, sad soldier.

He found the officer alone in the alley beside the tavern, crying to himself silently. Noah smirked.

"Well, isn't this a sight?" he grinned, taking a few careful steps closer now that the officer saw him. "I didn't know the Fuhrer's men _could _cry."

The man straightened himself out and wiped his face quickly, frowning at Noah like it would do any good. If the man wasn't armed with that pistol on his hip, Noah might have played things differently. As it was, Noah would rather survive than play things exactly the way he wanted to, circling the man like a wolf after his prey.

Instead, he decided to approach the man with a little sympathy. "What's wrong, friend?"

"It's no business of yours," he replied coolly, and Noah caught an inflection in his high-pitched voice that spoke of the highlands – Pforzheim rather than Berlin. This man, this boy, was from the Black Forest if Noah was right about his accent. When it came to accents, Noah was almost always right. How else would he have hidden the Yiddish on his own tongue for so long?

Noah painted on a concerned expression and asked, "Are you sure, friend? Can't I buy you a beer and hear the troubles of another Black Forest man?"

"You...?" the officer asked and Noah nodded.

"I was born in Calw, spent my boyhood there. My mother was Italian, though, so I wasn't Nordic enough to join the great fight."

The officer nodded, looking a little less lost now that Noah had eased his mind with thoughts of home. In fact, his eyes darted across Noah's frame and suddenly the rebel understood why this upstanding SS officer was so upset.

Noah moved closer and whispered, "Don't worry. I won't tell them you're not the perfect Aryan they think you are. Your secret's safe with me."

Frowning, the man snapped, "And what secret would that be, stranger?"

Knowing he had to say this carefully, Noah reached out to finger one of the patches on the officer's arm, whispering, "Pink triangles, isn't it? How they mark those of us who are unworthy? You'd think the problem would take care of itself, right? It's not like we'd be contaminating the gene pool if we were just left alone."

Noah knew it was risky, claiming to feel things for other men, but he figured it would be the best lie to gain the officer's trust. Noah knew he was good looking the way the dames fell all over him and if it might get Rachel back, he would seduce the hell out of this sad, conflicted officer.

"You have no proof," he muttered, turning away until Noah laid a hand on his arm, lightly.

"You're right, friend," Noah admitted, slowly turning the man around until they were face-to-face. "I have no proof. But what would I do with that? You're an officer, babe. What's my word against yours, even with proof?"

"Then why are you talking to me?"

Noah grinned for a few heavy seconds before asking, "So, how about that drink?"

The officer's eyes stayed glued to Noah's face as he pointed at the tavern and shook his head. "Not in there. I've already got my voice and build working against me. If they see us talking..."

"So come back to my place," Noah offered, thanking God that Schue was so fastidious about making sure there were never papers to leave lying around at home. Everything was committed to memory. It was better that way. "I've a bottle of something, gin maybe. We can talk there."

It took a long moment and a few more furtive glances across Noah's form before the officer nodded in agreement. "Walk quickly, like we're on business."

Noah beamed at the man, thinking so what if he had to fake affections he didn't have? This officer just might be the best thing to happen to the resistance all year. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Kurt," he replied, giving only his first name. "And yours?"

Noah didn't have to think before giving one of his aliases. It was second nature at this point. "Gunther. Gunther Schultz. Pleased to meet you, Officer Kurt."

Kurt gave a tight-lipped smile before saying, "Let's go. Get out of the street."

"Sure," Noah agreed, giving Kurt another one of his flirty smiles before turning and leading the way to his rented room. Rachel only had to hold on for a little while longer.

* * *

><p>Kurt couldn't believe what he was doing. He was so scared he could feel his legs shaking as he followed the beautiful man to his apartment. What if it was a trap? What if someone in Kurt's division suspected him and had hired this man to draw him out? Jesus Christ, it wasn't worth it.<p>

Except Kurt couldn't get the feel of his boyhood friend out of his mind. They'd been at school together in Austria and ... And Blaine Anderson had loved him. They were careful never to be seen together, but there were so many stolen hours, so many stolen kisses and touches. When Blaine spoke out against the Nazis' views on homosexuality, he disappeared. Just seventeen and the war had six more years before it would start, but Blaine went missing anyway.

Kurt hadn't wanted to become an officer, but it really was the best place to hide. Besides it made his father, a war-machine mechanic for the Empire in the last war, so happy to see Kurt in the German uniform.

This was the first time he'd slipped in eight years, and he'd known the man he was following for all of two minutes. It wasn't safe. It was stupid and reckless and was probably going to get him killed, but Kurt just didn't think he could hold back anymore. Not when there was a beautiful stranger handing out smiles and light, easy touches.

Shit, Kurt was in trouble.

Gunther showed Kurt to a single room in a cheap, but well-maintained building maybe a mile from the tavern. Curious, Kurt asked, "If you live all the way over here, what were you doing at the tavern near the compound?"

Smirking as he unlocked the front door of the building and locked it again behind them, Gunther whispered, "Maybe I just like the uniform." Those words and the man's breath against his skin made a chill run up Kurt's spine and his breath catch in his throat.

God, it had been so long.

Gunther led Kurt up a flight of stairs and then left to a door just like all the others in the place. The man opened that door as well, with the key around his neck rather than one from his pocket, and showed Kurt in. "This is home," he announced with another grin as he lit a lamp and let Kurt close the door behind them. Kurt thought about locking the door again, just in case, but he felt like maybe it was better to maintain an easy exit.

The room was fairly standard - small with a little eating area, a sink and mirror, and a bed in one corner which was made, but without the military precision of the barracks Kurt was used to. A guitar sat in one corner and Kurt pointed to it, asking, "You play?"

"Gotta make a living somehow," Gunther shrugged, pouring liquor into two glasses and handing Kurt one of them. "God knows the Fuhrer's Germany won't find jobs for men like me."

Kurt nodded, eying Gunther's darker skin and almost-black hair and thought about asking more questions, but took a sip of his drink instead. Maybe if he drank enough he wouldn't be too scared to go through with whatever this was. Wincing at the bite of cheap liquor on his throat, Kurt asked, "What would you like to talk about, Herr Schultz?"

"You can call me Gunther, fella," the man insisted, sitting down at one of the dining chairs and motioning Kurt toward the other one. "If this is going where I hope it's going, we should be on a first-name basis, don't you think?"

Face growing hot and heart pounding, Kurt nodded. Why, oh why, was he here?

"You like music?" Gunther asked then, reaching behind him to open a case that turned out to be a gramophone. Kurt nodded and Gunther smiled again, saying, "You're gonna love this one."

He put the music on quietly, probably for the sake of his neighbors, but Kurt was intrigued by the sound. The song was primarily a blues-riff on guitar, with heavy bass in the background and a rich, broad voice singing in English about losing one's love or something along those lines.

It was beautiful.

"Who is it?" Kurt asked, leaning closer to look at the record sleeve beside the machine. "I don't recognize the song."

Gunther smiled and laid one hand on top of Kurt's on the table, winking as he said, "That's me, Herr Kurt," and proceeded to sing along softly for a few bars. "Made before the war really got going. Producer said to sing it in English, so it would sell better overseas. What do you think? If the Fuhrer's war goes as planned, should I scrape together enough cash to re-record it in German?"

Slowly relaxing at all the talk of music – something Kurt loved desperately but could only express through playing piano for the soldier's dance once a year – Kurt smiled and said, "I'd have to hear it in German before I could give my honest opinion, Herr Gunther."

The man laughed shortly at Kurt's sass, squeezing the back of Kurt's hand before he began singing over the music in German. "My lover's eyes sparkled, my lover's eyes shined. My lover's eyes are dark now. My lover doesn't love anymore."

"How depressing," Kurt remarked during an instrumental bridge.

"I pine away for old loves," Gunther continued, his voice so rich and soft that Kurt felt like he might be drooling, "and miss out on the new. Darling, don't you let me stop me from knowing you."

Gunther met Kurt's eyes then and laughed self-consciously. "I understand if you hate it," he insisted. "The translation isn't pretty yet."

Shaking his head, Kurt whispered, "I love it, Gunther. It's really good." He was falling fast for this stranger and Kurt knew the best thing to do would be to get out of there and try to forget him. Instead, Kurt moved his chair closer and turned his hand in Gunther's so he could feel the man's palm against his sweaty one.

Something flashed across Gunther's eyes before he smiled again, interlacing his fingers with Kurt's in a gesture that suggested he wanted more.

* * *

><p>Noah was quickly beginning to think Officer Kurt was much more than the monster he'd thought every one of Hitler's men had to become. This man, though, hid among his compatriots, somehow never declared sub-human for his effeminate voice and slight build, somehow never caught looking by anyone but Noah. He almost felt bad for the guy and kind of liked the way he spoke.<p>

Not that Noah was a deviant or anything. He was only doing this flirting act to get in Kurt's head, to learn what he could about where the Nazis had taken Rachel. That's what this was about – Rachel. It had nothing to do with how warm Kurt's hand felt in his or how long it had been since Noah had been able to talk a farm wife out of her knickers.

So Noah stalled. He held Kurt's hand like he meant it and talked about things like films and music and family.

He got Kurt to sing a little bit of something that wasn't a nationalistic anthem and told him about how it had been four years since he'd seen his mother and his sister.

"What about your father?" Kurt asked him, and Noah figured since the truth was pretty much working out well so far, he might as well continue on.

"Left us for his new wife when I was ten," Noah shrugged. "Changed his name and moved to America, on account of his bad eye." Okay, so "bad eye" was code for being a Jew, but Herr Kurt didn't need to know that.

"I'm sorry," Kurt sighed. "It's only ever been my father and me. I can't imagine growing up without one."

"Can I ask what happened to your mom?" Noah said softly, since he had a feeling that if he could get this officer to talk about his mother, Noah could get him to talk about anything.

"Um," Kurt replied, pulling a watch from one of his pockets and taking a look at it. "I should get back. Can I tell you the story another time?"

Shit. This was not good. Leveling a skeptical glare at the man in his room, Noah asked, "Are you really going to come back, or are you just blowing me off because I asked something too personal?"

Kurt sighed before smiling tightly and saying, "I have to get back because I'm on duty in a few hours. I promise, the next chance I get, I'll come visit you again."

He seemed sincere, so Noah grinned and leapt to his feet, pulling Kurt up and tilting his head to the perfect angle before going in for the kill. "Tuesday?" Noah asked, his lips deliberately ghosting past Kurt's.

Feeling some sort of weird pride when the man shivered and nodded, Noah pressed his lips against Kurt's for a full, slightly-less-than-chaste kiss. God, it had been too long since Noah'd had a girlfriend if kissing a man felt this good, hadn't it? Something in the back of Noah's head urged him to keep kissing the officer until he was completely satisfied, but he knew that wasn't the way to seduce this maybe-not-a-monster SS officer. No, he had to keep Kurt wanting more. Noah pulled away, licking the taste of the other man off his lips and trying not to enjoy it as much as he was.

"I..." Kurt began, struck speechless by the heady powers of Noah's kissing prowess. Clearing his throat, Kurt nodded, "Tuesday," and slipped his cap back on his head before escaping Noah's room.

Oh yeah, he would be back.

* * *

><p>Kurt kicked himself during his entire walk back to the compound, knowing exactly how much trouble he was in. If anyone saw Kurt with Gunther, if anyone had seen them kissing and reported it, Kurt would be dead without anyone giving the matter a second thought. SS officers were expected to contribute to the strength of the German people by fathering as many children as possible. Kurt couldn't even bring himself to kiss a woman, lest she realize how completely disinterested he was. If not for a good childhood friend, Brittany, Kurt was sure he would have been assigned to the infantry and certain death, despite his extensive schooling. Brittany wasn't very bright, but she knew how the gossip mill worked and she'd slept with enough different officers to make her claim that Kurt was one of them believable enough.<p>

He couldn't go back to Noah's apartment on Tuesday. There was no question. If Kurt went, if someone decided to check up on him, his goose was cooked.

It was just … after that kiss, he wanted to go back _so much_.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

When Noah went to Schuester's the next morning, to make sure he caught the guy before he had to leave for work, someone was already there.

"No, Herr Schuester," the young man's heavily-accented voice carried through the door Noah was about to knock on. "I can't do that. I won't just _leave_."

Will responded more quietly and Noah couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, so he knocked on the door. The only thing worse than being caught at Will Schuester's house these days was being caught skulking outside. The peephole in Schuester's door darkened for a moment before the bolt slid away and the man himself ushered Noah in, saying softly, "Make it quick, Noah. I've got a guest."

"Who?" Noah asked, and he knew it was dangerous to be curious about any of the things Will Schuester and the rest of the resistance did, but he couldn't help himself.

Will looked at Noah for a moment before shaking his head in acquiescence and gesturing Noah toward the kitchen. "This is Finn Hudson," he said, introducing a very tall, but exceptionally skinny man who might have been about Noah's age. "He managed to escape his POW camp and made his way to me. We're trying to get him out of the country and back to the Brits."

"And I told you," Hudson broke in, frowning at Will over a bowl of broth he'd been drinking, "that I'm not leaving the country. Not when there's so many of them I had to leave behind."

"But you don't even know where you were held prisoner!" Will hissed, and Noah knew the man wanted to be shouting, but wouldn't let himself for fear of the neighbors.

"I can't just leave her there."

Noah broke into the argument, asking, "Who's 'her'?"

"Her name is Rachel," Finn replied, meeting Noah's eyes for the first time since he'd arrived. "And I love her."

"Not Rachel Berry?" Noah asked, more on a desperate whim than on any real hope that this POW might have met his friend.

The tall man drew his brow together tightly and opened his mouth for a few seconds before replying, "Yeah. Yeah, Rachel Berry. You know her?"

"Fuck, man!" Noah cried, trying to keep his voice down as he grasped the Brit's arm in celebration. "She's still alive? I mean, I was hoping, but you never know and this is _great_!"

Hudson nodded, looking to Schuester for a moment before pulling his arm out of Noah's grasp and muttering. "Oh, you do know her. Um, _how_ do you know her?"

Seeing the jealous glint in the man's eye, Noah chuckled and patted Finn on the shoulder, saying, "Relax, lover-boy. Rachel and I grew up together. She's like my sister, okay? The only reason I'm still in Berlin is that I've been trying to find out where they took her."

"And?"

"And nothing," Will broke in with a huge sigh as he sat down behind his desk, sorting through sheets of music, which were filled with coded messages as well. "We have no idea which of the camps she might have been taken to, and it's suicide to even _ask_. It'll be much more useful to get you out of the country and back to your people. You can tell them what you know and they'll take _your_ word for it, unlike those of us with German accents."

"Miss Pillsbury still giving you the run-around?" Noah laughed. He knew all about Herr Schuester's weekly attempts to break into the communication lines with his father's old radio and about the "friendship" he'd developed with the overly-cautious British school teacher on the other end.

Will frowned and Noah took it as a sign that maybe he should just drop the subject for now, and move on. "Speaking of leads, I think I scared one up last night. Found an SS officer I think I can get some answers out of."

Concern spreading across his face, Schuester tilted his head a little and asked, "Get some answers _how_?"

"Look," Noah began, knowing he had to approach the subject delicately, "I met this officer last night and it was obvious from the get-go that he's pretty severely bent. So I thought-"

"No," Will practically barked. "No way, no how, Noah. This is an SS officer you're talking about! You know _exactly_ what they're like, what a man has to be like to be accepted as an officer. He's probably bait in some sort of sick trap. And since when were you…?"

"Since never," Noah explained, "and you didn't see him Schue. No one's that good at faking me out. You _know_ I can spot a liar a mile away. This fellow was telling the truth." Will shook his head vehemently, but let Noah keep talking anyway. "Just let me do my thing, we'll get a few pictures of him in a compromising position, and then wham! He'll tell us everything we need to know! Hell, if I can get him to fall for me, we won't even need the pictures as leverage. I'll have him turning coat quicker than you can say U-boat."

Will kept shaking his head, but it took him a few minutes before finally he spoke, so very softly. "What happens if it is a trap, Noah? What happens if they take you, too? God damn it, we've lost so many..."

Noah sighed. He knew this wasn't about him, it was about Schue's wife, Terri. She'd been pregnant when they took her to one of the camps. She hadn't even known her grandfather was Jewish, and a Pole. She just got swept up one day when she was visiting her mother. He'd got word four months later that Terri died of pneumonia, the baby too. Will had never forgiven himself for letting her go alone.

Carefully, Noah whispered, "Hey. I know. Hell, man, it was Terri's death that made my Ma finally decide to leave. I know what's at stake. But I'm just one man. I'm not good with maps and plans like Sam. I'm not smart like Lucy Quinn. All I have are a guitar, my looks, and some mighty-fine muscles. There's a million other guys like me."

"Don't say that," Will argued, but Noah held a hand up to ask for his silence.

"I can do this, Will, and you know it. Just ask Figgins for me, will you? He'll tell you it's a good plan. It's worth the risk to find out where everyone has been taken." Noah gave his superior a hard look until the man relented and nodded.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll ask Figgins today at school. Don't do anything until you hear from me, alright?" Will picked up his satchel of papers and pointed at Finn, "And you don't go anywhere either. Don't answer the phone, don't answer the door. You do not exist."

"Yeah, fine," Hudson nodded, waving as Herr Schuester took one look at his wristwatch, frowned at Noah again, and left the house.

* * *

><p>After mandatory calisthenics (ugh) and showering with the other officers (dangerous), Kurt was dressed and just settling in to his desk, when Frau Sylvester appeared before him. As usual, Brittany was at her side, giving Kurt a friendly wink.<p>

"I hear," the woman began, tapping her clip board with a heavy pen, "that you didn't show up last night, Officer Hummel."

"I was there," Kurt insisted with a disinterested frown as he began sorting through his papers. "It's not my fault your 'informant' failed to show up even remotely on time."

"Hummel!" she sneered, her face contorted dangerously. "Don't talk to me like that, young man! And you should have waited. Lauren was just running late on account of her great size. You'll have to go back to that establishment tonight and wait for her. Unless you had other plans…?"

"No, ma'am," Kurt shook his head, feigning a smile and glad it was only Monday. Not that he was going back to Noah's apartment tomorrow, because he wasn't. Not at all. "I'll be there."

"Good," Sylvester nodded before turning to Brittany and saying, "Write this down: protein powder, eggs from an orange chicken, and the Ark of the Covenant. Now, moving on!"

As Frau Sylvester and Brittany marched away, Kurt shook his head and turned back to his real work – translating and decoding all the messages that had been intercepted in the last few hours. Due to his extensive schooling and knack for languages, Kurt was perfectly suited for this job, although he knew Blaine would have been better at it than he was.

No. Kurt had to forget about Blaine. He was gone, dead, and the only things Kurt had left were his life and his father – whose failing health worried Kurt more than it probably should have. In any case, Kurt had to forget about Blaine, he had to forget about Gunther, and he had to keep his head down. Only by cooperating and doing his job well would he get through the Fuhrer's war.

* * *

><p>Noah wanted to go back to that officers' club, but he knew he would be pressing his luck. Besides, Kurt probably wasn't even there. He said he didn't have off again until tomorrow night, so Noah just had to wait another day before he could put his plan into action, no matter what Figgins told Schuester.<p>

So, needing to kill time, Noah showed up to work for once, taking his place on the stage behind Lucy Quinn and tuning his guitar. The other boys in the band were pleasant, but Noah knew better than to trust any of them. George on drums, Ted on upright bass, Brad on piano, the brass section, none of them appeared even the least bit interested in upsetting the status quo. Hell, for most of them, this wasn't their only job.

Not that it was Noah's only job either – but he didn't get paid for working with Schuester. Sometimes he got a meal here or there, but for the most part, Noah had to live lean. And he had to keep his hands off Lucy Quinn, if he knew what was good for him. She was beautiful and her singing voice was breathy – just right for entertaining the officers and other men off the street – but Noah knew she was single for a reason. If any of Quinn's marks thought for just a second she was seeing someone else, like Noah, her life would be on the line. Lucy Quinn Fabray held her life above everyone else's and rumor was that on more than one occasion, she'd killed her mark in order to protect her life and her identity. No one ever found out what happened to those poor souls when Quinn was done with them.

Maybe, since Quinn's main function as part of Schuester's "club" was using her beauty and sex appeal to dupe soldiers of their information without them ever finding out, Noah should talk to her and get some tips for dealing with Kurt. Making the guy believe what Noah wanted him to believe shouldn't be that difficult, right? It wasn't like Noah would actually have to _kill_ the man if things went bad.

* * *

><p>"You Kurt?" a very large woman with dark hair and glasses asked Kurt that night as he stood with his back to a support beam, watching the crowd.<p>

"Lauren Zizes, I presume?" Kurt replied with a nod, taking the hand she offered him and guiding her toward an empty table near the back of the tavern. "Frau Sylvester said you'd like to talk to me."

"I wanted to talk to you yesterday," she huffed, grabbing some guy's stein of beer and frowning at him until he let her have it and went to order another. "Got held up, though."

"So, you have information?"

"Yeah," she replied in Danish, of all languages. "I've been trying to infiltrate a group of rebels here in Berlin. Filthy people, but I think I have an idea of where they might be."

Kurt spoke back in the same language, to put Lauren at ease and let her know that he was, in fact, able to understand her. "And where is that?"

"The musicians," Lauren replied, pointing toward the tiny stage at one end of the tavern and the four-piece instrumental band that was playing. Sitting and singing with Gunther the night before passed through Kurt's mind before he pushed the image away and tried to pay attention to Lauren. "Not all of them, but at least some have been implicated in this effort. Stupid, isn't it?"

Kurt nodded, saying, "They must not realize that the Fuhrer knows best." Kurt wasn't so sure on that point either, but it was as good as death to say anything of the sort out loud, even to one's friends. "But we can't exactly pull in all musicians off the street when we have a war going on several fronts. Do you have any more information that might help narrow our field of search down?"

"Sorry, buttercup," Lauren shrugged, taking a big gulp of her beer. "I wasn't a good enough musician to get close enough. You'll have to find someone else to go in, because I'm gonna follow up on this lead Sylvester got about Jews hiding above bakeries all over the country."

Taking a look at Lauren's massive form, Kurt almost said, "Be sampling the wares, will you?" but he held his tongue. Frau Zizes worked for Sylvester and Sylvester had the ear of Kurt's commander, General Remington. The last thing Kurt needed was to piss all of them off by behaving like anything less than a proper, disciplined, _straight_ officer.

* * *

><p>After the set, Will Schuester came and grabbed Noah's arm backstage, pulling him into a dark corner and saying, "It's a go. Figgins agrees with you."<p>

"Really?" Noah asked, trying not to grin too hard. Finally he was being useful. Finally he was going to figure out what happened to Rachel.

"We've had so much luck with Lucy Quinn," Schuester said, watching as the girl passed by to go out and work the crowd, looking for her next target, "that Figgins was eager to agree. I can't say I like it, though."

Noah shrugged. "I'll be fine. Who are you going to get to take the pictures?"

"I was thinking Finn," Will replied. "He wants to be useful, but truthfully, I don't trust him with anything else. He's kind of a klutz."

Laughing, Noah agreed and then went about his business, careful that no one see him talking to Will. Sure, Noah had been Will's student once upon a time, but that didn't mean they could be seen talking in dark corners without arousing at least a little suspicion. At least Will had been smart enough to feign surprise and disgust when the SS officers told him his wife was Jewish. With no reason to doubt him, no suspicion landed at his feet and he could keep on coordinating the resistance effort.

Once he put his guitar away, Noah headed out into the tavern for a drink. He figured he deserved it for finding the lead of a lifetime in Officer Kurt. As he sat down, Noah reminded himself to find out Kurt's last name. It might come in handy at some point.

When he was half-done with his drink, Lucy Quinn sat down next to Noah, ordering a soda water and turning toward him. "Word on the street is that you've found yourself a love-interest, Herr Schultz."

Noah was only confused for a second before he saw that mischievous glint in Quinn's eye. She must have heard about Kurt. Grinning, Noah replied, "We'll see. She's a little skittish. Might not show up for our rendezvous tomorrow night."

"You got a plan of action?" Quinn asked, taking a sip of her drink. "I mean, every _girl_ is different. You've got to know how to woo them right."

"Babe," Noah smirked, "have you seen me? I'll just show off my arms a little and she'll be falling into them."

Quinn smacked Noah upside the head and clucked her tongue. "Gunther, Gunther, Gunther," she sighed. "You know better than that. You've got to make her feel safe, at ease, maybe even a little drunk. Tell her stories about your childhood. Tell her about your hopes and dreams. Believe me, darling, I know what I'm talking about."

"Sure," Noah agreed, nodding with another smile and thinking about how Quinn was right. In order to get anything out of him, Noah had to make Kurt feel safe, and not just in love. "I'll do exactly that."

* * *

><p>Every step Kurt took, he knew it was wrong. He knew he was killing himself, one step at a time, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help but remember the way Gunther talked to him and smiled at him and kissed him. Kurt couldn't help but want more, so much more.<p>

This was his downfall.

It had to be.

Before long, maybe even before the night was over, Kurt would be dead, and the only explanation the SS would give his father was that Kurt was found to be subhuman. Of course he wasn't allowed to live after that. Burt might just congratulate them on getting rid of another mentally-defective person, even if it was his own son.

Maybe it was just Kurt's time. Maybe he could have one last night of exactly what he needed, craved, wanted, before it all came crashing down around him.

Maybe he would even get away with it.

Kurt checked behind him now and again, stopping for a drink in a tavern here, to talk to a friend at a restaurant there, until he finally made his way to Gunther's building alone. Not that Kurt had ever seen someone coming after him, but he felt better being absolutely sure, or at least as sure as he could be.

Ringing the bell for Gunther's apartment, Kurt waited outside, his breath white in the cold air and his heart thrumming in fear and expectation. He wouldn't wimp out this time. He couldn't. Kurt would take everything Gunther had to give, if only because it might be his last chance to do so.

The man arrived at the front door eventually, grinning at Kurt through the glass and ushering him in quickly. "Ah, Kurt! How are you, cousin?" he said loudly, which confused Kurt until Gunther's eyes darted toward a door that was ajar a few feet down the hallway. "How are all the Calw relatives?"

"Fine," Kurt replied with an understanding nod. "Uncle Anders got laid off, but the government found him a new job, so everyone is happy and well-fed."

Looking impressed that Kurt had come up with a story so quickly, Gunther smirked and said, "This way, dear cousin. Come in, come in!"

Kurt followed Gunther back to his room, heart beating loudly in anticipation. The room looked the same as before, well lived in, and Kurt shivered at the memory of their kiss. Once the door was closed behind them, Gunther took Kurt's hand and squeezed it, saying softly, "Thanks for coming back. I don't know what I would have done if you stood me up."

"That's sweet," Kurt replied, keeping his voice low and letting Gunther pull him a little closer. "I have to say, I found it impossible to stay away."

"Good," Gunther grinned, squeezing Kurt's hand once more before letting go and going to the sideboard. "Drink?"

"Please," Kurt nodded, unbuttoning his jacket as Gunther attended to the drinks. "How have you been?"

"Same as always," Gunther replied, bringing Kurt a glass and clinking them together before taking a sip. "Played at the Smitz last night. Not much of a crowd, but it was alright for a Monday. How about you? Oh wait -" Gunther's eyes sparkled as he grinned. "It's top secret, right? Don't tell me then. Wouldn't want to get you in trouble." Gunther sat down on the couch this time, patting the cushion beside him in welcome.

Kurt smiled as he sat down, taking a sip of his drink before saying, "You're right. I can't say anything besides the fact that I appear to have a new project."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Gunther asked, laying a light hand on Kurt's knee, which made him shiver. God, why did he want this so much?

* * *

><p><em>Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.<em>


	3. Orphan 3 Future fic with Beth Rated R

**Title**: Orphan #3: Future fic with Beth  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Puck, Kurt, Beth; Past (and future?) Puck/Kurt  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R, probably  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Dramady  
><strong>Warning<strong>: Almost accidental incest for humor's sake  
><strong>Words<strong>: ~ 6k  
><strong>Author's Note(s)<strong>: Third fic that I've started and been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: A chance meeting at a bar may be the new beginning Puck's been looking for, just not in the way he expected.

* * *

><p>Like any man would after being dumped at no fault of his own, Noah Puckerman went to a bar. The bar. MacGregor's, the bar across the street from his apartment building. At least he kept his own place through the whole ordeal, unlike a few, particularly disastrous relationships in his past. Jamie always hated the fact that he wouldn't at least sublet, but Puck figured he'd done something right for once, following his instincts and keeping his apartment.<p>

Puck was at the bar for two reasons that night, three nights after getting dumped. Number one, get blind drunk. Number two, hook up with someone and try to forget about Jamie for a few hours. It was _the plan_ for _the bar_, and so far the only part working was the getting drunk part. Damn. He'd have to slow down or he'd be off his game trying to score tonight.

And then she walked in. She was beautiful and young, toned with light skin and brown hair. She wore a calf-length blue dress that highlighted everything about her body just right. And she was alone. There was just something about her that called to him. Counting on his baby-face and lack of any wrinkles to hide the fact that he was probably at least ten years older than her, Puck approached the girl, and said, "Hey, there."

"Hi," she replied, giving him the smallest of smiles before turning away to look around some more. As tiny as the gesture was, Puck found that smile enthralling, like he would have no trouble talking to her for hours, like he wanted to make her laugh. Plucking him out of his thoughts, the girl suddenly asked, "Have you seen a college-age boy with blonde hair in here tonight? I was supposed to meet him, like, an hour ago."

"Can't say I have," Puck lied. He'd seen the kid come, stare at his watch for twenty minutes, and leave, but he wasn't about to tell her that. She might just go looking for him or go home. "But don't worry 'bout it. Blondes are overrated."

After a second the girl laughed, much to Puck's relief. Smiling, he stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Noah. What's your name?"

"Liz," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly, eye contact unwavering. Yeah, this chick was a badass. Puck smirked.

"Wanna keep me company while you wait for this college boy of yours?" he asked, letting his eyes take in the girl's entire form. Unlike most women, she was really solid-looking, which Puck appreciated. It reminded him of Santana. Hell, in a way, it sort of reminded him of Jamie, too.

Smiling a sharp-toothed grin, Liz nodded, "Sure. Buy me a drink?" She put on a pouty little face and Puck couldn't help but laugh and agree, telling the bartender to put whatever the lady wanted on his tab.

"So, Liz?" Puck asked when they both had their drinks. "What do you do?"

"Sales," she replied with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink and swirling it with the little straw. "What about you?"

"Music teacher," Puck told her, startled when she shrieked.

"Really? That's what my mom used to do!" Smiling excitedly, Liz touched his arm and asked, "What grade level?"

"High school," he smiled, suddenly wondering exactly how old this girl was, because she didn't look that much older than some of his students.

Composing herself a little, Liz nodded and took another sip before telling him, "Mom too. She even made me go to the school where she taught. Bleugh!"

"But..." Puck asked, brushing some of the girl's hair back off her shoulder and smiling at the way she shuddered, "...that was awhile ago, right?"

After a sharp laugh, Liz looked straight into Puck's eyes and said, "If you're trying to ask how old I am..." She lowered her voice and leaned closer, "...I'm twenty. Don't tell the barkeep."

"I won't," he whispered back with a smirk, glad the chick was as legal as she looked. He'd taught enough fourteen and fifteen and sixteen year old girls to know that sometimes, if they dressed right, there was no way you would guess they were anything less than twenty-five. "So," he smiled, taking a sip of his drink, "you still in school or...?"

"Nah," she scoffed. "It was never for me. Too much reading."

Laughing, Puck replied, "I know what you mean."

"But you're a teacher," she teased, poking his arm with one finger, a not-so-subtle move Puck recognized as her trying to figure out if his guns were as solid as they looked. "Shouldn't you be all, 'Yay, reading!'?"

"Ah," he smirked, catching her hand and holding it for just a moment before letting her go, "but I'm a _music_ teacher. All my students have to read is sheet music, which makes a lot more sense, if you ask me."

"Word," the girl nodded and Puck laughed a little bit at the casual and not-at-all-ironic way she said it. Damn he was getting old.

After a few silent sips of their drinks, Puck asked, "So, Liz, what kind of sales are you in? Clothes? Drugs? Nuclear missiles? 'Cause damn, that would be freakin' badass!"

"No!" she cried through another laugh. "I sell perfume. It's really just a day job while my band tries to get noticed."

"You're in a fucking band, too?" Puck asked, certain he'd found just the right chick to get him over the break-up with Jamie. "That's awesome! I used to be in one, but all my bandmates crapped out on me and my ex convinced me to go back to school. What's your band called?"

With a shrug and a sinful lick to her straw, Liz replied, "Koala Down."

"Like that vid?" Puck asked.

"Yes!" she cried. "Thank you! No one my age gets it. It's like they weren't online even when it came out."

Puck nodded in agreement, observing, "No one appreciates the classics…"

"Right, so Johnny – he's my guitarist – he says we're just like that little bear, all helpless and sweet until the zookeeper, or the audience or whatever, gets a little closer and WHAM! Giant block of sound you didn't even know was there."

"So … you're pop-rock, then?"

"Nuh-uh. Nu-grunge," she smiled. "Layne Staley's, like, my personal hero."

"Holy shit. He's mine too!" Puck grinned. "Angry Chair was seriously my high school anthem!"

"Wait," Liz said, leaning back and raising one eyebrow almost comically high. "Exactly how old are you, Noah?"

"Jesus," he chuckled. "Not that old. The whole album was already a classic way before I hit high school."

Poking him in the arm again, Liz said, "Hey! I want a real number, mister."

Puck thought about telling the truth, but then he decided that tonight's objective was getting laid at all costs, so he lied and said, "Twenty-five."

"Bullshit."

"Fine!" he laughed. "You caught me! I'm twenty eight." No need to tell her he was actually thirty-four. Shit. When did the years sneak up on him?

Puck opened his mouth to ask some more about the girl's band, but was interrupted by the bartender shouting, "Alright, everyone! Finish your drinks and pay up. Family emergency and I've got to close for the night."

"Damn," Puck swore, swallowing down the rest of his beer. "I hate it when Chuck does this. Him and his damn 'family emergencies'..." Puck mimed taking a hit off a joint, which made Liz laugh.

Then, her face fell and she pouted, "Oh, no! Paul's gonna think I stood him up. Shit."

"If you want," Puck offered, "my place is just across the street. We could have another drink and sit out on the balcony to watch for him." He knew it was a long shot and Puck watched as a calculating look settled over Liz's features.

But then, she smiled and said, "Sure," holding her hand out for him to take.

Puck escorted the lady across the street, admiring the way her blue, flowing dress cascaded against the backs of her calves. It had been awhile since he'd been with someone who had calves that pretty.

Everything was going great and Liz sent him more than one flirty smile, but it was the elevator ride that got interesting. Before the doors had even closed, Liz had pressed him up against the elevator wall and practically attacked him with her lips. God, he loved a woman who wanted to drive like this. Puck kissed back eagerly, settling his hands on the girl's hips so he could guide her to the right door down the hallway when the elevator doors pinged open.

As soon as he let the girl into his apartment, though, she found everything except his lips interesting, which frustrated him to no end. This was supposed to be about a hook-up with a stranger, not, "Puck, this is your life."

The first thing that seemed to interest her was the samurai sword hung on the living room wall. "Oh my god," she sighed. "That is so badass!"

"I've got numchucks somewhere, too," Puck boasted, stepping behind the girl and putting his hands on her hips again. Smelling her hair, Puck realized that Liz smelled nice, but she didn't have that extra little something that Puck needed in a long-term partner. But for one night of fun, she was great.

However, instead of leaning back against Puck, Liz scooted away again. She found the picture on the wall of him in Africa and pointed to the other person in the picture. "Hey, who's this?"

"That's, uh, my ex, Kurt," Puck told her, deciding in this case the truth was better than a lie. Kurt had taught him that. "That's us at the base of Mount Kilamanjaro."

"But..." she asked, "he's a boy...?"

Shrugging, Puck said, "I'm bi. I date both. Never at the same time, but ... yeah."

Looking closer at the picture, she said, "Wait a second ... I think I know this guy. Is that Kurt Hummel?"

"Yeah," Puck smiled. He actually still kept in touch with Kurt, despite the fact that they'd broken up almost ten years earlier. "You've probably seen him because he's on Broadway more often than not these days."

"No," she said, scrunching up her nose. "My mom loves all that broadway crap, but I hate it. Ugh. No, my sister's married to this guy's brother. We spent Thanksgiving with him last year."

The first though that flicked through Puck's mind was, "What a small world..." but then he realized who Kurt's brother, or step-brother, was. Then he realized who Finn's wife was. And Rachel didn't have any siblings unless you counted... "Oh my fucking god!" Puck cried, snapping his hands away from the girl in front of him and rubbing his lips on the sleeve of his blazer to try to wash the taste and feel of her away. "Beth?"

"Huh? How do you know I used to be call-"

"Oh, holy fucking shit!" Puck cried backing away further. He could see it now. Liz's eyes were shaped like Quinn's, but the color of hazel was more like his. Her hair was dark, but not as dark as his. Her nose was Quinn's, but that mouth and chin were all Puckerman. "You're Beth Corcoran!"

"Like I said, I go by Liz now. Do we know each other?"

Dizzy over what he had almost done with his freaking _daughter_, Puck stumbled back and lowered himself onto the living room couch. "I'm Noah _Puckerman_."

"Oh?" she replied, and he almost thought maybe Shelby never told Beth about him, but then her face fell. "Oh. Oh! Oh my god! And we almost...?" Pointing an accusatory finger at him, Liz pointed out, "You said you were twenty-eight!"

"Well, you said you were twenty," he shot back, "and I was there when you were born, so I can definitely say you're only eighteen!"

"I was rounding up!" The girl made an angry noise and it looked like she was about to bolt right back out the front door, but then she crossed her arms under her breasts and sighed, "You know, this wouldn't have happened if I knew what you looked like."

"Don't," he begged. "Don't even go there."

"But I know Quinn," she insisted, shifting over to sit on one of Puck's high bar chairs. "I've known her since I was little. I even babysit her damn kids once in awhile. Why couldn't I know you?"

Shit. He was afraid of this. As much as he tried not to think about her, at least once a week it occured to Puck that Beth was out there somewhere without him, and she probably hated him. Just like Puck hated his father. Granted, Eli Puckerman was a no-good, son-of-a-bitch deadbeat. At least Puck had done something right and signed over his parental rights.

It wasn't like he'd never thought about finding her again. He thought about it a lot, but always came to the conclusion that he was too much of a fuck-up for her to know. He had an okay job, even though the pay was lousy. He never stayed with anyone for more than two years since Kurt broke up with him. He didn't have any other kids like Quinn. He was basically Mr. Schue eighteen years ago.

"Because I couldn't handle it, alright?" Puck confessed. "I _hated _giving you up and if I had to think about how you were growing up without me, I woulda been in jail or the loony bin or something a long time ago."

As Puck tried to think about what else he could possibly say to make this just a little closer to okay, the girl's anger slowly melted away into tears and she asked in a small voice, "So you don't hate me?"

"No!" he growled, getting up and going to her. Grabbing Liz's elbows, he bent down to look in her eyes and said, "I've loved you ever since I found out about you, okay? I'm sorry I was too much of a wanktard to tell you earlier."

Without another word, Liz threw her arms around Puck's middle and hugged him tightly. Mumbling into his shoulder, she said, "My music's gonna suck now."

Confused, Puck patted her shoulder carefully and asked, "Why?"

"I can't hate you anymore."

"Seriously?" Puck asked, knowing she had every reason in the world to keep on hating him for being such a loser fuck-up.

"Yeah," she nodded pulling away and looking up at him. "I really, really want to, though," she admitted.

"I get that," Puck replied, letting Liz out of his arms when she started to push away. "I hated my old man until the day I heard he died. Bastard had another family, can you believe that? Fucked up me and my sister, not to mention my mom, and then moves to Virginia so he can fuck up a whole new set of kids!"

"You don't, right?" Liz asked, a vulnerable expression in her eyes.

"What?"

"Have more kids? Like Quinn?"

"No," Puck shook his head simply. "Since...yeah, since Kurt, there hasn't been anyone I felt stable enough with to even think about kids." Something about the way Liz looked at him, through Quinn's eyes, made Puck want to keep talking, so he said, "I thought maybe things were getting there with Jaimie, but it turns out he's a fucking asshole. So there's another two years down the drain..."

Liz nodded sadly, and took a breath before telling him, "A few weeks ago, I caught my boyfriend chatting with some skank online about a hook up he had planned. Yeah, that's over now."

"And that Paul guy?" Puck asked, pointing toward the bar across the street.

"Blind date," she shrugged. "No big deal, except my friend didn't tell me the time had changed until it was too late to do anything about it."

"But otherwise," Puck asked, finding himself intensely curious, "your life is okay? Is your mom good to you and everything?"

Liz smiled and looked down, nodding. "Yeah. Both my parents are pretty great. They didn't get married until I was five, but I don't remember much from before Dad came along."

"Who's your dad?"

"Oh, he's got the worst name ever," Liz laughed, "Brian Ryan. But it's cool. He loves all that showtunes crap even more than Mom. He actually had to divorce his first wife because he got cast in Les Mis! How dorky is that?"

"Pretty dorky," Puck agreed with a laugh, vaguely remembering that a guy named Brian Ryan visited the glee club once or twice. "I'm glad you had a good family. There was no way Quinn and I could have given you that life. We'd probably all be on welfare, living in a trailer in that park out on Greencrest Road."

"When you put it that way," Liz pouted, "it makes it even more difficult to hate you."

"Good," Puck laughed before sighing. He had missed everything about Beth growing up and now she didnt even hate him for it. It seemed like too much. Digging around in his back pocket, Puck fished out his wallet and found one of his business cards. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Plug that in your phone and give me a call when your next gig comes up. I wanna see you play."

"Okay," Liz nodded with a smile, taking the card and slipping it into her tiny purse. "I think Johnny's got us a gig for next weekend, but I can't remember where or when. I'll let you know."

Since Liz was moving toward the door, Puck figured their conversation was over, so he said, "Let me know if you ever need anything, or if you want to talk or something."

Smiling, Liz replied, "So you're no longer in danger of going crazy out of guilt if we actually talk from time to time?"

"No," Puck laughed, opening his door so she could leave. "I'm cool. Say hi to your mom for me, okay?"

Liz nodded and waved and then she was gone. Again.

* * *

><p>Kurt was just getting home from dress rehearsal - god, the ineptitude was astounding - when his phone rang. Dropping his bags wearily, Kurt took a few steps through his empty apartment and toward the kitchen before answering. He didn't have the number identified, so he answered, "Kurt Hummel. Who is this please?"<p>

"Oh, hi!" a girl replied, and she sounded surprised that he had answered. "Um, this is Liz Corcoran. You know, from Thanksgiving?"

"Oh, yes," Kurt nodded, pouring himself a glass of water. "What's going on, Liz?"

"Well, um, the funny thing is ... I met Noah Puckerman the other day..."

Kurt's heart dropped at the mention of his ex. Ten fucking years and he still wasn't over the loss. Carefully, Kurt asked, "Is that so...?"

"Yeah," Liz replied. "Funny story, too. I was at this bar-"

"Aren't you a little young...?" Kurt asked, trying to remember how old they had been when Puck got Quinn pregnant. Sixteen, right?

"Whatever," Liz replied. "But I was late for my date and Noah picked me up instead. We didn't even recognize each other! If it wasn't for the picture of you he had hanging up... Yeah, ew."

Kurt couldn't even grimace at the mention of nearly-avoided accidental incest, because he was caught up on just a few words. "Noah still has a picture of me?"

"From Kilama-whatsit, in Africa," she explained. "He tried to play it off like it was just about showing off he'd been there, but the only other photos he had up were ones of his mom and sister. I think ... I think he misses you."

No. It couldn't be. Kurt hadn't even talked to Puck since the high school reunion, where the man had a world-class bitch on his arm and bragged to everyone about how he was going to leave Lima as soon as his sister got back on her feet. Not that Kurt hadn't been showing off his boyfriend, too. Part of it was an I-told-you-so for the jocks who used to bully him, but mostly it had been to make Puck jealous and punish him for running out on their relationship.

Just like all the others, that relationship didn't last. Eric. It was Eric he brought with him to Lima. How sad was it that Kurt could barely remember?

"He actually said, out loud, to you ... that he misses me?" Kurt asked.

"Well..." she stalled, and Kurt knew he was right. Puck was over him and had been for years. It wasn't worth trying to hold onto when there was nothing there. "...he didn't use those exact words, but I could tell he was lonely, and he talked about you like you were the last good thing that had happened to him. Why did you break up, anyway? You looked so happy in that picture."

"No one ever takes pictures of the hard moments," Kurt replied. "And I don't see how this is any of your business. Noah and I broke up almost ten years ago. Just leave it be."

"But," Liz complained, "I just met him and he's my bio-dad and it _hurts _seeing him so unhappy. I had to try and do something!"

"Like what?" Kurt asked, curious how an eighteen year old girl possibly thought she could get Noah and him back together again.

"Like get you to come see my show next weekend. Noah's gonna be there. Your eyes could meet across the crowded room..."

"I have my own show to do here in New York, Liz," Kurt explained. "I can't drop everything and fly to Lima. I'm sorry."

When she spoke, Liz sounded disappointed. "Well, we're playing in Dayton at The Trench, ten o'clock Saturday."

Without knowing why, Kurt jotted the information down on the pad beside his refrigerator. "I won't be there," he said. "But I'll make sure to let you know when I'll be in town next and you can tell me if you have another show I could see."

"Fine," Liz said with resignation. "I'll probably see you at Thanksgiving again?"

"Maybe," he agreed, taking another gulp of his water. He didn't make it back to see his parents as often as he maybe should, but Thanksgiving and Christmas were those absolute had-to-be-there holidays. Especially during those years where Kurt was single, which turned out to be way too many of them. "Goodbye, Liz."

"Bye," the girl said, her voice faint as Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear and disconnected the call. Hungry, but too tired to cook, Kurt picked up his phone again and was halfway through ordering Noah's favorite sweet and sour pork before he realized what he was doing.

"Sir? Is that all?" They'd ordered this meal from this take out restaurant the night before Puck got the call about his mother. Kurt had saved the leftovers in the freezer for three weeks waiting for Noah to come home. He never did come back. "... Sir?"

Shaking himself, Kurt replied, "Yeah. Yeah, that's all." After giving the clerk his numbers, he hung up with a sigh, wondering if he was actually going to eat the food he'd ordered. It had been a long time since he thought about Noah in more than an off-hand subconscious sort of way.

It fucking hurt.

* * *

><p>Something about meeting Beth again made Puck nostalgic, and he was not a nostalgic kind of guy. What was done was done and it was better not to think about it. With thinking came wishing things were different, and if he could go by how all those childhood wishes for his dad to come back hadn't come true, he could say wishes were worth shit in the real world.<p>

So why was he sprawled out on his dusty couch, surrounded by the few pictures he had left of Beth when she was young on one side and the pictures his mom had taken of him and Kurt at various family functions over the years? They'd been so young then. Beth's age. Birthdays and Hanaukkahs and that one fourth of July when they had camped out in the backyard (despite Kurt's protests) and made love when everyone else was out watching the fireworks downtown.

The pictures of Beth followed her growth up through first grade, the same year he and Kurt had broken up, the same year Puck's mother died. It wasn't his fault he had to take care of his mother when she got sick. It wasn't his fault he had to take care of his sister, Sarah, when their mother died and she was still a senior in high school. It wasn't his fault the strain of living a thousand miles apart had severed his relationship with Kurt.

So why did he feel so crappy about it?

Sighing, Puck packed up all the pictures of Kurt and shoved them into the bottom of the box that had come with when he moved out of his mother's house, but he left the ones of Beth out, just for now.

Picking up his phone, Puck saw Jaimie's number at the top and spitefully deleted it before scrolling down a few numbers and coming across the one he wanted.

"Hey, dickhead!" Sarah answered her phone cheerfully. "What's shakin'?"

Laughing, Puck replied to his sister, "Hi, cheesebrain. You busy this weekend?"

"Not really. Why? Do you need a wingwoman again? I saw on your status wave that you and Jaimie broke up. Whatever happened to, 'This guy's gotta be the one, Sarah!'? What, did his cock fall off?"

"No," Puck laughed at the image. "But it should. I found out he'd been fucking around on me with this chick and now they're getting married, like, _soon_. Two months from now. Married! And he breaks it to me less than a week ago. Fuck my life."

"Hey, bro," Sarah cooed, though her coo came out more like a cough. Puck knew he should have been on her ass from day one about all the smoking. She was gonna turn into their Nana Connie if she wasn't careful. "Hey, I'm still single. C'mon. We'll go out and get drunk. It'll be awesome. What about Sundown?"

Puck knew the hook-up bar, but he had other plans in mind. "Actually, there was this show in Dayton I wanted to see. I know one of the band members and I told her I'd check it out."

"Ah," Sarah replied knowingly. "The ol' go see their crappy show to get into their pants routine. I gotcha."

"No, Sarah," Puck complained. She was always running her mouth and jumping to conclusions before he could get a word in edge-wise. It was no wonder they hadn't been close until Puck had moved back home again. "The chick is ... she's Beth. My daughter."

After a brief, hesitating pause, the girl cried, "No shit?"

"No shit," Puck agreed. "But she goes by Liz now, I guess."

"Why go see her now? The break-up making you want to rub salt in all those wounds, Noh?"

"Fuck no," he replied. "It made me want to go out and sex the first person who would let me, and instead, I met her."

"Ooh," Sarah sighed. "That sounds like a sign from God! What do you think it means?"

"I think it means," Puck replied, "that you're going to this show with me for moral support. No excuses."

"No excuses, fine. But if we're driving all the fucking way to Dayton, you're totally DD. I'm getting drunk off my ass."

"I'm counting on it," Puck replied with a smile, hanging up on his sister before she could ask whether or not he was calling her an alcoholic like their mother. Sarah wasn't. She just knew how to have a good time, like her brother.

* * *

><p>"No, Quincy," Kurt sighed, slapping his script down on the coffee table between him and his moronic costar, "that's not the line. You said, 'I've got to <em>get <em>her,' instead of, 'I _have _to get her.' The switch in emphasis completely detracts from the meaning of the line in context! And are you sure you can't make the accent a little more ... sophisticated? You're playing a senator, Quincy, not a hobo."

"God," the guy sneered, standing up and shrugging on his (ew) off-brand fleece jacket, "the others told me you were a prick, but did I listen to them? No! I was all, 'Dude's gotta be nicer than he seems!' I stuck up for you, man, and this is how you treat me? I'm outie..."

"Wait, no," Kurt called, jumping up to follow the man toward the front door of his apartment. "Quincy, I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

"And when I suggested you add a pause on that line in the first act," Quincy reminded Kurt, stepping into his (gross) tennis shoes at the door, "you blew off my idea and ticked off every little thing you think I'm doing wrong. Do me a favor, Kurt. Don't ask for my help reading lines if you don't want it. And don't talk to me on set unless it's life and death. God help me if we get good reviews and I end up having to work with you for months and months on end!"

And with that, the man left in a huff, slamming Kurt's apartment door behind him.

"Jesus," Kurt murmured to himself, "what an asshole." Yet, he did have to wonder if he was somewhat to blame for this fiasco of a night, as well. Kurt's agent, Sherry, had been telling Kurt for eons to try to make friends with his straight cast mates, and Quincy was usually a pretty laid-back, easy-to-get-along-with guy. In fact, he'd rescheduled a special dinner with his wife to read lines with Kurt on the eve of opening night. "Oh, god," Kurt realized aloud as he carried two empty tea-mugs into the kitchen. "I'm the asshole! I'm turning into Rachel Berry!"

Taking out his phone, Kurt quickly sent Quincy a wave, saying, "I'm so sorry, and point taken. I was a jerk. No excuses. See you at the curtain."

Sure, Kurt could be bitchy and somewhat of a perfectionist, and that tended to turn people off, but he'd never been so bad that a colleague had totally written him off before. It was the stress of starting a new show, right? His first premiere in two years, though he'd been acting steadily since then, and he didn't have a boyfriend this time. Maybe he just needed to get laid. That might help. Except Kurt hated the New York club scene. Oh, he loved getting dressed up and he loved the music and the dancing, but he hated the grittier side of things - the disgusting washrooms, the groping hands, the lack of honesty, the cheaters and the fakes. Kurt knew as an actor, he should be used to everyone around him being deceptive and putting their best mask forward.

He missed the way Noah hated disingenuous people, too. He missed the way Noah said exactly what was on his mind, with no qualifications or explanations. "You can't change my mind, babe. Twinkies will always be the best snack food ever invented. Why else would they last so long?"

As he began his nightly skin-care routine, Kurt questioned whether or not he actually wanted to be in this show. The story was alright, and he'd been able to arrange something suitable with the music and costume design, but no one else seemed to care as much as he did. Or if they did care, Kurt couldn't see it.

Opening night was tomorrow. Two days later, on Saturday night, Kurt knew exactly where Noah Puckerman would be. But the third and fourth showings of the play were on Saturday, with another two showings on Sunday afternoon. Kurt couldn't bail on that could he? If he let his understudy take over this weekend, when all the reviewers were coming to see the show, the newspapers would not be kind to him. Plus, many of Kurt's fans had bought tickets as soon as they went on sale, with no word yet whether or not the play was any good. He couldn't upset them by being absent opening weekend. Could he?

No, he couldn't. Why was he even entertaining the idea? Noah was no doubt a different person now and Kurt was silly for even thinking a Saturday night in Dayton could change anything.

* * *

><p>Still dissatisfied with his empty apartment and his empty bed, Noah didn't brush her off this time when the barista at the coffee shop flirted with him. He flirted back and waited for her to go on break. He whispered in her ear and stroked her hair and asked for her full name. She'd been a student at his school a few years before, but he'd never taught her directly, so he brought Anna Erikson home with him.<p>

She was eager and energetic in bed, but something about her blue eyes and those dimples and the way she sighed after he kissed her reminded him way too much of a certain ex he'd been trying to forget for ten long years. When they were done, Puck asked her to leave, citing an early morning. She left.

* * *

><p>When Kurt got to set for the final dress rehearsal, the atmosphere was so chilly that he wished his costume included a parka. Quincy must have told everyone else what had happened. No one did anything childish, like put rubber spiders in his water bottle or something, but he certainly stumbled over his own feet more than usual.<p>

When the music director cut him off at the same point in his big number, right before the climax of the song, eight freaking times Kurt lost it. He fled the stage in an exit reminiscent of all those Rachel Berry storm-outs he'd witnessed during high school and college. He didn't need this petty shit. If they though they could do better without him and his name recognition, let them. He was done.

Gathering his things, Kurt didn't even look up when Gina, the director, said his name. "Kurt. Kurt, what are you doing?"

"What everyone wants me to do," he replied with a huff. "I'm leaving. Quitting. Let Daniel get all the press for the part. He's good, he deserves it."

"Look, I'll talk to them," Gina insisted. "They're being very unprofessional, honey, I know that. I'll-"

"What?" Kurt asked bitchily as he threw the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and brushed past her. "Yell at them? Scream until they behave? Darling, you couldn't scream at a wolf even if it was about to eat you. Have fun directing without my help."

When Gina failed to raise her voice in her pathetic attempt to get him to come back, Kurt knew he was making the right decision. Pressing his earpiece, he called his manager, "Judy, I quit the play."

"But-!"

"Tell Jorge to put an announcement on my site. Blame it on personal issues or the moon or something, I don't fucking care. I can't go through with it. Oh, and tell him I'll reimburse the first two hundred ticket holders to sign up. I've got the cash."

"Baby doll," Judy gasped, "what are you thinking? I know you've managed your money better than anyone else in showbiz, but you know walking out on this contract will black list you!"

"I seriously don't care at the moment," Kurt sighed, hailing a cab. "Book me a flight to Dayton, maybe Toledo if it's more convenient. I'd like to leave in the morning."

"Because skipping town is so classy," Judy scoffed. "Fine. It's probably for the best. Maybe we can play this off as a nervous breakdown."

"I'm fairly certain that's exactly what this is," Kurt laughed humorlessly. "Call me with the arrangements."

Kurt hung up and called another number, "Hi, dad."

"Kurt, my boy!" Burt replied and Kurt could tell he was smiling. "What's goin' on, excited for the show? That's starting tonight, isn't it?"

"I quit," Kurt told him. "I - look, I'm coming for a visit, okay?

* * *

><p><em>Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.<em>


	4. Orphan 4 Fight Club Rated M

**Title**: Orphan #4: Fight Club  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Drama  
><strong>Words<strong>: ~ 3k  
><strong>Author's Note(s)<strong>: Fourth fic that I've started and been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval. I think this was a fill for a prompt on the fic meme, but I'm not sure.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: There's a new member of Fight Club, and his arrival surprises Noah Puckerman to no end, until he sees Hummel fight.

* * *

><p>Puck had been part of a fight club ever since he found out Quinn was pregnant and made Finn think it was his. He thought it would be better, beating on nameless faces instead of his best friend or said best friend's girlfriend because he got sick of all the lies.<p>

Puck never expected Kurt Hummel to show up early during junior year. He'd been standing next to, but not really talking to Anthony Rashad, pretty much because they were both on the football team. Then Tony leaned over, hit Puck on the arm, and nodded toward a new figure around the circle. "That gay kid is here."

Puck only knew of one gay kid in all of Ohio, but he was still surprised to see Kurt, dressed in a tight wife beater and close-to-the-skin leather pants. The dude was watching the current fight with this intense sort of glare and absolutely none of the fear Puck had come to expect from new guys. The club usually only had the time for maybe a dozen fights, but new guys always had to get in the ring. It was a rule right up there with, "Don't talk about Fight Club."

"He's gonna get killed," Puck told Tony, cringing when Hanson took out Peters with a swinging double-fist to the face. Kurt stepped into the ring as soon as it was clear, "Shit. They've got him matched with Krause?"

"Definitely gonna get killed," Tony agreed, wiping at his split lip, eyes trained on Krause, who was one of the biggest, strongest, meanest motherfuckers in the club. Puck had fought him once and yielded after just two hits, concussed so badly he threw up all night. And Puck usually won because he was young and strong and quick.

As the fight began, Krause circled Hummel a few times before lunging at him, Kurt dodging easily away. Unperturbed, despite the surprised murmurs of the crowd, Krause lunged again. This time Kurt circled around the guy and quickly backed off before taking a few steps of a running leap and cracking his clasped-together fists down on the back of Krause's neck.

"Whoa!" Puck gasped in surprise, along with everyone else as Krause stumbled a little. Next Hummel hit his opponent with a round-house to the face, dodged one of Krause's meaty hands, elbowed him in the ribs and then brought him to his knees with a headlock, Kurt's lean muscles straining against the man's windpipe. For the first time ever, Krause yielded and tapped out.

Beside Puck, Anthony breathed, "What the fuck?" and Puck couldn't help but agree. He tried to go talk to Hummel, but now that he'd proved himself, every dude with a scrap of machismo seemed to want the chance to bring the fairy down.

* * *

><p>"Dude, Hummel, wait up!"<p>

"What is it, Puck?" Kurt replied with a sigh, stopping in his tracks and pulling a compact mirror from his bag to reapply a light layer of concealer.

"I totes saw you last night!"

Rolling his eyes at the boy's atrocious word choice, Kurt finished his touch-up and gave Puck a harsh look, "No you didn't."

"C'mon, I did," Puck argued, much to Kurt's dismay. He really wasn't the brightest bulb on the string, was he?

"And what's the first rule?" Kurt asked, a leading question that he hoped Puck would pick up on.

"I know, I know," Puck replied, to Kurt's relief. "Don't talk about it. But, dude, where do you learn that shit?"

Puck looked very impressed and Kurt couldn't help but preen a bit, turning his nose up and continuing his walk to class. A look back assured him that Puck was following and he replied, "Self-defense classes, the Cheerios, and a secret appreciation for Bruce Lee movies."

"No shit?" Puck asked, grabbing Kurt's arm and then wincing and pulling his hand away at the look he received. "I mean damn, dude, I never would have guessed."

"Are we done now?"

"But you're so badass! Why wouldn't you just fight back when the jocks give you crap?" Puck looked genuinely confused, which was kind of adorable on him.

"And get suspended for ruining the team's nonexistent chances at playoffs?" Kurt scoffed. "Not really included in my 'get out of this cow-town plan' is it?"

"Dude, you could injure the whole football team?"

"I've never tried," Kurt smirked, stopping at his classroom. "But after taking down that behemoth Krause at Club..."

Puck nodded, his mouth sort of open until he licked his lips and closed it. "I-I'll see you around, Hummel," he stuttered, looking back a few times as he walked away.

Kurt wasn't sure whether Puck was scared of him now or had a crush, but either way, he felt very pleased with himself as he sat down in history class and pulled a sparkly blue pen from his bag, ready to take notes. School would help him get out of here, just like fight club was keeping him sane in the mean time. Kurt wondered if Puck would show up next Tuesday, because he had a feeling kicking the jock's ass would be highly satisfying, perhaps for both of them if Santana's stories were to be believed. He just had to make sure to avoid damaging that pretty face.

* * *

><p>The next time Fight Club met, Telly managed to get a few hits off on Hummel, because he was pretty quick, too. It didn't save him from having his head bashed against the floor once Hummel brought him down. Two guys had to pull Kurt away, the kid's face already covered in his opponent's blood, so he wouldn't kill Telly. Kurt had to be stopped from killing his next opponent, too, so Jerry set up a fight where the hellion had to sit out for awhile. Puck stood next to him and said, "Hey, Hummel. What's up?"<p>

"Nothing," the dude scowled, giving Puck a suspicious look.

"Guys who have nothin' going wrong don't usually beat their fight partners half to death," Puck pointed out, grinning when Kurt frowned at him.

Anthony's mom found out about him sneaking out and though she didn't know about fight club, he couldn't come anymore. Puck started hanging out with Kurt at meetings, watching the guy beat up everyone and occasionally trying to get him to open up a little.

"How's things going with you and that guy you brought to prom?" he asked, soon after school let out. Kurt ignored him, but looked away from the fight and sniffed once. Puck figured that was answer enough. No wonder Kurt fought so brutally that night, worse than he had since coming back from Dalton – he'd broken Hugh's arm and everything.

Just after Lauren dumped him so she could fuck her fat camp buddy guilt-free, Puck finally asked for a fight with Kurt, wanting to be put out of his misery. He was proud to stand a little longer than most, cracking one of Kurt's ribs and giving him a bloody nose, but as soon as Kurt got one good kick to Puck's solar plexiglass or whatever it was called, the fight was over. Kurt straddled Puck's chest, put a knee on each of his arms and a hand around his throat, cutting off just enough circulation to make Puck a little dizzy.

"Is this what you wanted, Puckerman?" Kurt hissed, his expressive eyes angry and sad at the same time. "Does having your ass kicked make you feel any better?"

"Yeah," Puck croaked, his Adam's apple bobbing against Kurt's hand. "It's almost as good as fucking."

"You want me to do that for you, too, hmm?" Kurt scoffed, pressing his hand a little harsher into Puck's neck. Why weren't the other guys pulling him off?

Wait. Kurt's suggestion hit Puck suddenly and just like that, Kurt's sexuality wasn't this abstract thing for popular kids to make fun of. It was real and sitting on top of him, holding Puck's life in Kurt's hands. Meeting Kurt's eyes and drowning in abrupt want and needing air, Puck pulled on his captor's hand and mouthed, "Please!"

Kurt's eyes got a little darker and his grip slackened just before three big guys pulled Kurt away, letting Puck heave a few good, deep breaths before rolling himself onto his hands and knees and crawling out of the ring.

"Shit," he muttered as he let Jerry help him to his feet, catching sight of Kurt gathering his things to leave. Puck wasn't sure what he wanted, but he knew he didn't want Kurt to leave. Not yet.

Puck stumbled after Kurt into the darkness and toward the lot where all the cars were parked. He saw Kurt notice him long before the guy turned around and asked, "What? Are you looking for a rematch, Puckerman?"

"No," Puck replied, his voice still hoarse. "I want..."

"Want what?" Kurt demanded, taking a few steps closer to Puck and into the light. God, he looked hot. How had Puck never noticed it before? And why was Kurt's face, covered in the blood from his nose and bruised on one cheek, so beautiful?

Puck took a tentative step forward, whispering, "Please?"

After a moment, Kurt's eyes went wide in the streetlight and he got it. Taking a few purposeful strides toward Puck, Kurt left the pool of light and plunged into darkness, grabbing the hair at the back of Puck's head and using it to pull him to his knees. Puck groaned and didn't even care that his cock twitched in his pants.

"Never thought I'd see this," Kurt whispered, his voice still full of anger, "but I suppose the stories Santana tells about you in the locker room are true, aren't they?"

"Maybe," Puck sighed, groaning again when Kurt tugged his hair a second time. "Fuck, yes, alright?"

"Hmm," Kurt muttered, holding Puck's head back and meeting his eyes, searching them in the dark for something. Then he attacked Puck's lips with his, sucking in a heated breath through his bloody nose. Puck thought he might have been dying as Kurt's coppery, bittersweet kiss rocked his body, set his teeth on edge, and made a serious lead weight of want settle in his lower body.

When Kurt broke the kiss, he looked a little surprised, but then hid it quickly, ordering Puck to, "Get up."

He didn't really have a voice in the matter, since Kurt pulled him up by one arm and marched Puck toward the parking lot and one of the cars there. He opened the back hatch of the SUV and pushed Puck in and only then did Puck realize that Kurt was breathing harshly, panting almost as he crawled on top of Puck and pushed his shoulders down.

"Lotta room back here," Puck noted as Kurt reached up and closed the hatch behind them. "You take all your boyfr-"

"Shut up," Kurt ordered, silencing Puck with another of those world-changing kisses, lifting Puck's shirt up and off. Puck wished he was wearing his nipple ring, but that fucker was a real bitch to wear to fight club, even if he did fight with his shirt on most of the time. Then Kurt scratched his nails harshly down both sides of Puck's chest, making him moan and thrust his hips upward.

"Please!"

"Didn't I say shut up, Puckerman?" Kurt hissed, just before biting Puck's neck harshly and grinding down on him. Puck had to bite his lip and think about dead kittens to avoid embarrassing himself. He'd never been with someone this strong and this dominant before and Puck found he couldn't care that it was a boy.

Kurt licked at the bite mark and then whispered in Puck's ear, "You're mine now, got it? If I find out you've touched anyone else, I will break all your fingers and kick your ass until you're a bloody ruin. Do I make myself clear?"

Wide-eyed with want and a little bit of fear, Puck nodded, sighing in relief when Kurt unzipped Puck's fly and pulled out his cock. Puck could barely breathe as Kurt started stroking him and then got between his legs and pushed his own pants down. Puck wanted to ask what Kurt was doing _between_ his legs, but he didn't want to get punched or something. He found out when Kurt's hard, soft-skinned dick rubbed against his and Kurt started sucking painful hickeys on Puck's neck.

"Shit," Kurt cursed, biting Puck's collarbone as he used the hand still around the far side of Puck's cock to squeeze them together. "Tell me," he ordered, panting, "how much you want this."

Greedy with need and want, Puck moaned, hissing when Kurt bit him again. "Please. Need it," he managed to answer right before a particularly savage bite on his neck drove him over the edge.

"Damn it!" Kurt cried in frustration before he was roughly turning Puck over and pulling his pants further down, so they were around his knees. Limp and pliable now that he'd come, Puck let Kurt do whatever he wanted, even if that meant fucking him.

Kurt didn't, though. He held the side of Puck's face down against the scratchy carpet and rubbed his dick against Puck's ass crack, which wasn't unpleasant at all for Puck, until he came, warm and wet, on Puck's back.

After a moment, Kurt pulled away, zipping up his pants and then crawling over the seats to grab something from the front of the SUV. Puck didn't want to move. He wasn't sure if he should, or if Kurt would just get mad at him. Then the boy came back and wiped Puck's back with what felt like a tissue.

"Turn over," he ordered, not really looking Puck in the eye as he wiped off Puck's stomach and the carpet where he'd been lying. "Pull up your pants." Puck complied.

Then, Kurt straddled Puck's legs and held onto Puck's head so they were looking in each other's eyes. "You're mine now," Kurt insisted, "because you need me, don't you?"

Thinking about all the shit that had gone down last year with Beth and Quinn and then again with Lauren when she'd abandoned him too, Puck nodded. "I don't want to think anymore," he admitted, taking a sharp breath when Kurt kissed him and pulling the boy close until he hissed in pain.

"You fucking broke my rib, though, Noah," Kurt growled, biting Puck's lower lip. "Tomorrow night you're going to pay for that."

"There's no club for another two weeks," Puck pointed out, gasping when Kurt twisted his hair and tugged back.

"I know, but my dad's going out, which means you're going to come over and let me do whatever I want to you," Kurt explained. Puck shivered and nodded, letting Kurt pull him into a long, slow kiss.

* * *

><p><em>I'm realizing now that I probably could have ended the fic here and posted it as a one-shot. Oh, well.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Kurt had no idea what he was doing, not really. His bravado with Puck the night before had been left-over adrenaline and blood lust from the fight and about eighty percent bullshit. He had no idea what to do now that the boy was on his way over. How could Kurt have started a relationship with the jock, so soon after things had gone south with Blaine? How could Kurt have started a relationship like _that_, full of violence and pain? It was just the way Puck looked up at him and practically begged for it. Begged for _Kurt_. No one did that, least of all the guys he beat up.

Over this past year, Kurt had gotten to know the jock better, first in glee club and then in fight club, although the latter was less about talking and more about watching each other and the rest of the members beat the crap out of people. It was freeing and exhilarating and exactly what Kurt needed.

As had been the night before. He knew, he _knew_ he could have had sex with Puck and the self-proclaimed sex-shark would have let him do it. Kurt wasn't ready, though. He didn't want to lose his virginity covered in blood and holding his partner's face against the floor of his SUV so hard the boy probably had rug burn this morning. Not to mention all the bite marks and hickeys Kurt remembered leaving on his skin.

A large part of Kurt had wanted to, though. He'd wanted so badly to press into Puck and take what he needed, probably hurting the boy even more, making him whimper and writhe. He wanted to do everything he'd been too scared to do to Blaine, for fear of driving the boy away. Well now he was gone and Puck was there, begging to be hurt, so Kurt was damn well going to hurt him.

Dear lord, what was wrong with Kurt?

He was usually a kind and caring person. Why did he want this so much?

On the other hand, why did Puck? Why did he arch up against Kurt as they'd rutted together, moaning whenever Kurt bit or scratched him? Was it similar to why Kurt went to fight club – to forget his troubles in the rough-and-tumble of fight after fight? To prove that he wasn't just who the world expected him to be?

Shifting in his seat, Kurt winced as his rib pulled wrong. He'd bound the damn thing as tightly as he could by himself and it was much sorer and achier than it had been the night before. Why did he have to invite Puck over _tonight_? Normally after an injury like this, Kurt would have stayed away from fight club for a month or two to let himself heal before getting back into things. It wouldn't do to have his dad find out about how he'd been sneaking off late at night to get into fights.

Puck was going to be there in less than an hour, though, and without full mobility Kurt had no idea how to give the boy what he was expecting. What a disaster.

* * *

><p><em>Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.<em>


	5. Orphan 5 Future fic Kidnapped Rated T

**Title**: Orphan #5: Kidnapped future!fic  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Suspense, Crime  
><strong>Words<strong>: ~ 6k  
><strong>Author's Note(s)<strong>: Fifth fic that I've started and been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Detective Noah Puckerman just thought his husband was avoiding his calls because of the fight they were in. Reality was so much worse.

* * *

><p>"Babe," Puck said, grabbing his keys from the table next to the door. "We're leaving! See you tonight!" He waited for an answer, but Kurt was still sulking somewhere else in the house and said nothing. Great. You'd think a personal shopper, who was mostly a therapist in reality, would know better than to be this stubborn about a stupid fight.<p>

So Puck had been too busy to call to say he'd be home late the night before. If Kurt would have called when he started to get worried, Puck would have realized he was late and apologized. Instead, he looked up from his pile of paperwork at nine o'clock and called only to find himself shunted to voicemail. When he got home at quarter after, he found a plate full of food drowning in the kitchen sink, a pile of his pajamas and bedding in the middle of the hallway, and the bedroom door locked.

It wasn't the first time.

Taking his son's hand the next morning, Puck led five-year-old Jason out of their apartment building and down the block to Georgia's. "Hey, sugar," he greeted the woman. "You cool driving this morning? Kurt's being a pill and I just got the patrol car…"

The woman, who was in her early forties and had a daughter, Kira, in Jason's class, gave Puck an understanding nod. "It was my day anyway, Noah. You be safe at work, okay?"

"Always," Puck promised with a laugh before dropping down to Jason's eye-level. "You be good at school today, alright, bud? I'll make sure Daddy comes and picks you up afterward. Okay?"

"Pop? Is Daddy mad at you?" Jason asked, and Puck could swear he was smirking with the knowledge that he wasn't the one in trouble this time.

"Yeah, baby, he is," Puck admitted before ruffling his son's hair. "But that's okay, because everyone gets mad sometimes, right?"

"Right," Jason nodded before giving Puck a tight hug and running into the house around Georgia's legs.

Puck waved goodbye to his friend and walked back to his car, texting Kurt on the way. "Love you, K. Sorry again. You'll get J and Kira after school?"

He was at the station and climbing out of his car when he got two responses. The first one said simply, "F U," and the second, which followed quickly, said, "Yeah, I got them."

Puck shook his head and laughed, vowing to bring home those little chocolates Kurt loved. Hey, bribery couldn't hurt his chances at being forgiven anytime in the next year, so he might as well.

* * *

><p>Kurt was finishing getting ready for his ten o'clock appointment at the store when he heard the front door open and close and heavy shoes clomp all over the hardwood floor. Scoffing, Kurt called out, "If you want to be forgiven, taking the day off is a good start, but getting dirt all over my floor isn't helping."<p>

Noah didn't respond.

"Did you hear me?" Kurt added, frowning as the steps continued. He went out into the main room, looking for his husband in order to scold him some more. Instead he found a man, heavy-set with thinning blond hair and a scar across the side of his face. The man looked Kurt straight in the eye and raised a gun, pointing it at Kurt's desperately pumping heart. "Who are you?"

"None of your fucking business," the man replied, throwing a pair of handcuffs at Kurt's feet. He noticed they were the same make as the ones Noah kept on his belt since he'd been issued them as a rookie. "Put those on or I'll shoot."

Kurt knew a few things about self-defense, mostly at Noah's insistence, but he also knew never to argue with a man holding a gun. Terrified and hoping the man was just going to rob them, Kurt stooped down and picked up the handcuffs, securing them loosely around his wrists in front of him. The man growled angrily and stepped forward, pressing the metal of the gun against Kurt's throat as he tightened each of the cuffs in turn. Kurt could barely breathe.

"Now move," the man ordered, pushing Kurt toward the door and making him stumble. "Let's go, Mr. Puckerman."

"It's Hummel, actually," Kurt said without thinking. The guy was here for Noah? Maybe Kurt still had a chance. "Kurt Hummel. You've got the wrong man."

"Nah, I'm here for you, Kurt," the man replied, pushing Kurt right and toward the staircase as they left the apartment. "Just figured you looked like the catcher, maybe you'd taken Noah's name when you got married."

"That's incredibly offensive, you know," Kurt snarled, allowing himself to be herded toward the stairs going down toward the basement parking garage.

The man laughed, pressing his gun into Kurt's back as they walked, "I don't give a shit."

Kurt mumbled to himself, "Clearly," and wondered if there was any way he could get his phone out of his front pocket without the man noticing. No, he was being watched very carefully. Kurt would just have to bide his time and try not to give into the fear. He was Kurt Hummel, he was strong. This man may have the upper hand at the moment, but as soon as that gun was put away, Kurt would call his husband. Noah would be able to find him. He had to.

And then this blonde man was going to pay.

* * *

><p>At eleven-thirty, Noah was out on a case. Domestic. His absolute least favorite. He was a detective, he shouldn't have to put up with this beat-cop shit anymore, but he and his partner had got the call anyway.<p>

Mrs. Putnam wanted her husband out of the house but Mr. Putnam's name was on the lease, too. There were no good solutions past getting both parties to calm down and work out some sort of compromise. He was just starting to make some headway with Mrs. Putnam, putting his best charm-smile to work, when he got a phone call.

Noticing that it was the department store calling, and hoping it was Kurt about to tell him all the ways he could get back into the bedroom, Puck excused himself and answered, "Hey."

"Mr. Puckerman? Noah?" a woman's voice asked, and no, it wasn't Kurt's woman-like voice. Puck got concerned right away.

"Yeah, that's me. Is Kurt okay?"

"I was hoping you could tell us," the woman replied. "This is Shelly, his supervisor. He hasn't come in yet, and we were expecting him at ten. I tried calling him, but he's not answering his phone."

"Okay," Puck sighed, really not encouraged by Shelly's words. Either Kurt was more pissed off than he'd ever been and was risking his job to show it, or something had happened to him. Knowing how much Kurt loved his job, Puck's mind instantly decided that his husband was in serious danger. "Thanks for calling, Shelly. I'll figure out what's wrong and get him to call you right away."

"Great," the woman replied. "Thank you, Noah. I'll see you at the Christmas party next month?"

Glad Kurt's job wasn't in so much danger that they'd been dis-invited from the company party, Puck replied, "Wouldn't miss it, Shelly. See you there."

After hanging up, Puck quickly checked on his partner, Martinez, before dialing again, "Dispatch? This is Puckerman. I've got a family emergency. Can you get someone to come cover me with this call I'm on? Martinez looks like she could use the help."

"Sure thing, Puck, darling," the dispatch officer, Marie, replied. "I've put in your early leave request and it's … approved. You'll be relieved of duty as soon as Cooper and Lennox get there."

"Thanks, girl," Puck sighed, feeling even more anxious as he hung up and dialed Kurt's phone again. He wasn't being routed to voice mail anymore. Kurt was just letting it ring and ring. Something was definitely wrong. After the beep, Puck muttered into the phone, "Please be just sleeping or something, babe. Don't be dead. If you're dead, I'll kill you, Hummel. I swear to god." He wanted to say more, something that would guilt Kurt into calling him back, but Martinez waved him over in a panic as the husband lunged for the wife.

God damned domestic calls.

* * *

><p>Sometime between entering the parking garage and waking up somewhere dark and in motion, Kurt must have been knocked out. The back of his head ached like nothing else and he tried to bring his hands up to feel if he was bleeding or not, but they were still cuffed together and tied to something else. The air felt close and hot, which made Kurt realize he wasn't someplace dark. He was wearing some sort of black hood.<p>

It was all he could do not to hyperventilate.

Kurt realized in a flash that he was probably never going to see his family again. He hoped Jason was okay and Noah would survive bath-times and bedtimes without him. He mourned for the little girl they were going to adopt once her teenage mother gave birth, which was supposed to be only six weeks away. Noah wanted to name her Skyler, Kurt had been vying for Rose. Oh god, if he didn't get out of this, that poor baby was going to be saddled with the worst name in history!

Trying to remember all those action movies Noah had made him watch, Kurt closed his eyes and tried to figure out where he was. He was in a car or a truck, he could tell that much. The ride was smooth, so he couldn't tell how fast they were going, but the car seemed to drive on and on forever without stopping or slowing down. Crap. He was on the interstate. Noah was _never_ going to find him.

* * *

><p>When Puck finally got away he drove home, knowing Martinez would get a ride with someone else. She was resourceful that way, more often than not playing off her good looks to get what she wanted. Puck was pretty sure Kurt suspected him of getting it on with his partner at least once, and that's why whenever he was forced to talk to her, Puck's husband kept all his phrases short and clipped. It wasn't true. Puck told Kurt that all the time, and was sure Kurt believed him most of the time, but after what Blaine had done, Kurt had a difficult time trusting anyone.<p>

Puck's high-school reputation certainly hadn't helped things.

But Martinez was a classy lady. She wouldn't sleep with a married man, especially if he had kids. Plus, Puck was pretty sure she had a sugar daddy keeping her in expensive perfume and diamond earrings, even if she didn't want to talk about it. Ever.

Parking in his normal space in the garage, Puck saw that Kurt's car, child seat and all, was still where it belonged. What if Kurt was sick or something? What if he'd passed out? What if something worse had happened? Puck took the stairs up from the parking garage to the second floor, pulling out his gun as he ran. Nothing seemed amiss in the stairwell or in the corridor when he pushed through the fire door.

The second door on the left was them and Puck hurried toward the door, gun pointed down in case Kurt was just being bitchy, so Puck wouldn't shoot him accidentally on purpose. Usually Puck was cool with whatever mood Kurt wanted to throw down, but sometimes he knew he got this little voice in his head that just said, "The hell with it," and wanted to rain down fire like the death star. Puck usually got out of the house for a few minutes when that happened, and it had been working fairly well for their marriage so far.

But now Kurt was blowing off work, he wasn't answering his phone, save a pair of texts almost four hours ago, and if he was just soaking in the tub or something lame, Puck didn't know what he would do. For god's sake, they were trying to adopt a baby soon. This wasn't the time to lose sight of what mattered, like bringing home that paycheck and – wait, when did Puck become the responsible one in this relationship?

Shaking his head, Puck tried the door and found it unlocked. He entered the apartment carefully, following protocol to the letter so he wouldn't have any surprises at his back. Even if it was just Kurt wielding a slipper like he was wont to do when angry, Puck wanted to see that shit coming.

There was no one in the living room, no one in the kitchen, no one in the hallway. No one in Jason's room. No one in the nursery. No one in the hall bathroom, no one in the master bedroom. No one in that bathroom either.

No Kurt.

No one.

Kurt's bag was still sitting, half-packed on the bed, his keys were hanging next to the door, but his phone was missing. Even if Puck couldn't find a speck of blood anywhere, he knew this was all wrong. He wouldn't go further than the corner store without his man-purse and all the lotions and things he liked to keep in there. He wouldn't leave the house without his keys and every single pair of his shoes appeared to be where Puck had seen them last. Kurt hadn't left of his own free will.

Not knowing what else to do, Puck dialed dispatch and when he got an answer said, "Marie? Girl, I … Fuck, send someone to my place, alright? My husband's been kidnapped."

"Oh, no Puckerman!" the woman cried back and Puck could hear the urgent tapping of her fingers as she dialed in the order. "Are you sure? He didn't just step out for a minute?"

"He's gone," Puck insisted softly, hanging up and sitting down on the couch, wondering who the hell would want to take his husband. It wasn't like they were rich or anything. They made just enough money to adopt two kids and keep Kurt in a few designer outfits a year. It was comfortable, but nothing fancy. Hell, they couldn't even come up with the down payment to buy an apartment yet, not that and pay for Rose's adoption.

Oh, and now Kurt had him calling the baby Rose, too.

"God damn it, Kurt," Puck sighed, picking up his husband's scarf from the coffee table and holding it to his forehead like it would give him the answers he wanted. "Where are you?"

* * *

><p>Eventually the truck or the van or whatever Kurt was in pulled off the interstate and slowed before coming to a stop. After a few more minutes of surface streets – stopping and going, barely accelerating before having to slow down to make a turn – the vehicle stopped for the last time and the engine sputtered to a stop. Someone, who Kurt expected was the man who had taken him from his home, pulled at the rope attached to Kurt's cuffs, making him scramble to either keep his footing or be dragged bodily from the truck.<p>

"You know," Kurt said, loudly so the man could hear him through the heavy fabric of his hood, "you should really get your vehicle looked at. Your timing belt sounds about a thousand miles away from snapping and your spark plugs aren't firing very well."

The man laughed, but didn't reply, just shoving Kurt in front of him. The man pulled him up a short set of stairs onto what sounded like a wooden porch and then through a screen door that banged behind them. Then there were stairs down into a cold, damp place – probably a cellar – and the quiet whimpers of more than one person. Okay, Kurt had thought he was scared before. Now he was beyond scared, and his knees failed him.

"Up," the man ordered gruffly, pulling on Kurt's elbow and shoving him a few more feet away from the stairs. Then metal clanked against metal and a set of hinges groaned before Kurt was turned around and shoved backward a few steps. What felt like the barrel of that gun pressed against Kurt's temple again and he went rigid, not really wanting to give the man an excuse to shoot him.

Then, all of a sudden, Kurt's wrists were free, the hood was pulled away, and a steel-mesh door slammed in his face. Blinking in the suddenly bright light, Kurt was just able to see the hefty man's legs as he strode back up the stairs, leaving Kurt locked up down in his basement in a cage made of strong metal. Another whimpering noise made Kurt turn around sharply to see two women huddled together. A third stood apart from the other two, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed under her breasts and fire in her eyes.

Kurt liked her right away.

"I don't suppose," he began, meeting the third woman's eyes, "you know where we are?"

She shrugged, eying him up and down as one of the pair of women sputtered, "Hell. It has to be hell."

Kurt scoffed, "Like I would believe in hell. We're obviously in that man's basement. I want to know why."

"You really, really don't," the second woman spoke, hiding her face in her friend's shoulder.

"Hey, now, Stacy," the third woman said, standing up from her lean and taking a few steps toward Kurt, "maybe he's here for a different reason. He's the only man here. I don't think he'll get the same treatment."

Stacy's friend scoffed quietly, "Doesn't look like much of a man."

Kurt glared at her and straightened out his hair, standing up as straight as he could with the pain still pounding at the back of his head and something weird going on with his left foot, now that he thought about it. "What treatment?" he asked, turning back to look at the third woman, the one who might actually tell him the truth.

"He's been raping us," she said through gritted teeth, "when it gets dark. I've been here four nights and it's always the same. He takes one of us away, we scream so the others can hear it, and then we come back broken. He won't even let us shower."

"Oh my god," Kurt breathed, bringing a hand up to his mouth as his legs gave out and he crashed backward a few inches into the mesh wall of the cell they were in. "That's awful! We have to get out of here."

"Don't you think I've tried?" the third woman sighed, leaning back again and watching Kurt like he was something filthy on the bottom of her shoe. "There's no way out. Not without tools which we don't have, or some way to contact help."

"Shit," Kurt sighed, patting his pockets and realizing his phone was gone, taken away while he was unconscious. What else had the man done to him that Kurt couldn't remember? Sitting down on the (regretfully) dirt floor, he said, "I'm Kurt. What are your names?"

"Ginger," the third one said, and Kurt thought the name kind of ironic, since she had milk-and-tea colored skin and short, dark black hair. She pointed and said, "That's Stacy with the blonde hair and the busty brunette is Martha."

"Hello," Kurt waved weakly before resting his chin on his knees. "I would say it's nice to meet you, but it's really not under these circumstances."

The light streaming through a thin, barred window in one corner of the cellar, made it look like it was still mid morning. There was still time for Noah to find him before something awful happened, if Ginger was to be believed. God, it was selfish, but Kurt really hoped she was right and his kidnapper would leave Kurt alone just for the simple fact that he was a man. The thought wasn't very comforting. Only the thought of Noah and all the might of his police department and how quickly they would find him gave Kurt any comfort whatsoever.

Deciding to share that comfort, Kurt told the ladies, "My husband is a detective. He'll find us."

Ginger scoffed, "Mine's with the FBI and it's been four nights. Don't count on it, sweetheart."

"My boyfriend works at a prison," Martha offered, wiping her nose on the shoulder of her sleeve.

Stacy shrugged and said, "Jerry's a psychologist. He talks to bored housewives and manic executives all day."

"What have we gotten into?" Kurt asked quietly, looking up at the window again and willing time to stand still so the night would never come. Noah was going to be so heartbroken when he found out how Kurt died, especially given the way Kurt had been acting since last night. And how was Puck going to explain Kurt's death to Jason? This couldn't be happening.

* * *

><p>When Puck called for help, he expected a few patrol officers, maybe another detective. He did not expect a tornado of badge-wielding FBI agents and crime scene techs. "What's going on?" he asked one of the agents, who introduced himself as Peter Moline. "Kurt hasn't even been gone twenty-four hours."<p>

"We think your husband's kidnapping," the man began, pulling Puck out into the hallway and rubbing at his eyes like he was tired, "is the fifth in a string of similar kidnappings. Up until now it was all women, spouses of men involved in the criminal justice system."

"Why?" Puck asked, suddenly feeling the need to put his fist through the drywall. "Is this my work following me home? What's happening?"

Agent Moline wavered and Puck could tell he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure he should. And that wasn't just exhaustion in his eyes, was it? "Did he get yours?" Puck guessed, watching the man's face. "Your wife?"

"Yeah," Moline nodded, eyes down and hands on his hips. "My wife Ginger was taken from the parking lot of our grocery store five days ago. We haven't found her body yet."

"So you've found _a_ body?" Puck guessed again, hating the fact that Moline's face said he was right. Fucking hell. "Who was it? What did you find?"

"Theresa Sands," the agent said, pushing his thinning hair back from his forehead. "Wife of Howard Sands, federal court judge. She was taken a week before she was killed. She'd been molested repeatedly before he strangled her." Moline choked up a little and turned away, one fist pressed to his mouth like that might help him get through this.

"Hey," Puck said, putting his hand on the guy's shoulder, "we're gonna find them. I've got your back, dude."

Moline shook his head, a serious federal look on his face. "No. This is a federal investigation. We're … we…"

"I'm helping, end of conversation," Puck insisted. "This douchebag has _my_ husband. I'm not gonna let it slide. Besides, I know the area. We'll find them, Agent Moline. We have to."

Another agent came up to them, meeting Moline's eyes with a phone up to her ear. "Good news, sir," she said. "Now that Detective Puckerman's involved in the case, we've been able to narrow the pool of suspects down to two. I've sent you the specifics. We'll have him soon, sir."

"Thank you, Kutcher," Moline nodded, taking out his phone and pulling up the information. "Do you remember either of these men, Detective? Joshua Wilson, arrested by you six years ago for transporting a minor across state lines. My office took the case from there and Judge Sands was presiding when he was sentenced to five years."

Puck thought back and shook his head, "It doesn't ring a bell. I'd have to look up my own case file. Let me see what I can do."

"Alright," Agent Moline nodded. "The other is Thomas Gardner. You collared him ten years ago for drug possession and we connected him to a string of robberies across the Midwest. Got out on bail three weeks ago."

Thinking hard, Puck thought he might remember that name. Ten years ago he'd been a rookie. He hadn't even started dating Kurt yet. The first case he got called out on, and it was a big one. Drug raid at a crack house on the wrong side of Lima. "Thomas Gardner was the first man I arrested," Puck laughed a little humorlessly. "He was either drugged out of his skull or crazy. I've arrested maybe twenty just like him since then."

Moline nodded. "That's where we'll start. Let's get back to the branch office. My people are all set up there and we really could use your insight."

Puck smirked and followed the FBI guy out of the building, taking out his phone as he walked and calling Finn.

"What's up?" the guy answered. "I'm at work. Can't this wait?"

"No," Puck growled. "Need you to get Jay after school, alright? Don't freak out, but your brother's missing."

"Missing?" Finn cried, and Puck could tell he was freaking out despite Puck's orders. "What do you mean missing?"

"I mean kidnapped, you douche," Puck replied. "Now are you gonna pick up your nephew at three-fifteen or not?"

"Yeah," Finn agreed eagerly, now that the shock had worn off a little. "Yeah, sure."

"Thanks, bro," Puck sighed, making sure to tell him. "Don't worry. Me and the feds are all over this. We're gonna find him soon."

Finn sighed into the mic, "Sure, Noah. Good luck."

Puck grunted and hung up, dialing Georgia's number and telling her if she didn't want a strange six-foot-five giant picking her daughter up from school today, she'd probably rather do it herself. Before she could ask questions, Puck hung up and got into Agent Moline's car, whispering to himself, "I'm coming for you, baby."

* * *

><p>As the hours ticked by, Kurt learned a few things. First, Ginger was stronger than any one person had a right to be, even in the face of all this horror. Second, Martha and Stacy seemed to cry in tandem. As soon as one of them started, the other would join and it would keep circling around on itself until one of them managed to calm down for a few minutes. The process repeated about four times an hour, by Kurt's estimation.<p>

He found himself wishing he'd worn a watch that day, despite the way none of his watches matched his outfit. Not knowing how much longer until the man decided Kurt was acceptable, even if he was male, killed Kurt one second at a time. His whole life reduced to waiting, just like when his father had that heart attack or when they were waiting in the hospital for Jason to be born. Kurt hated it.

Needing to speak, he said softly, "I never made it to Broadway. I became a junior buyer for the department store instead. That morphed into personal shopping and now I tell rich old ladies what to buy. What do you girls do?"

"I'm a receptionist," Martha spoke up, clutching Stacy's hand tightly. "I work in a dentist's office."

"Stay-at-home mom," Stacy replied. "I was thinking of starting my own catering service."

"And you?" Kurt asked Ginger, sure she would say Navy Seal or something like that.

Instead she admitted, "Middle school teacher."

Kurt didn't know how to respond to that, though remembering back to middle school her immutable attitude started to make sense. She dealt with devils all day long, if you could count hormonal teens and preteens, which Kurt did. He was not looking forward to the day Jason realized his fathers were human, and thus knew absolutely nothing. He'd seen Tina and Mike go through it recently and it wasn't pretty. Kurt didn't have to worry about that, though, because he wasn't going to live long enough to see Jay grow up.

He had to get out of here somehow. He had to.

* * *

><p>Puck had never been in the FBI before, but it wasn't too different from his precinct office on the edge of Cleveland proper. Kurt had been behind his move from the downtown precinct, insisting that it was safer out here in the suburbs. After responding to a few calls about drunkards waving guns and all the damn domestic cases, Puck begged to differ. At least he worked not very far from home and Jason got to live in a neighborhood with a park across the street and his school just a mile away.<p>

Puck wondered briefly if he was about to become a single dad, but pushed the thought away. He'd come here to find Kurt alive, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Agent Moline had a group of four agents working for him, including Kutcher, and they'd set up a board in a conference room, detailing the lives of everyone who'd been taken.

Underneath Kurt's driver's license photo, it said, "Kurt Hummel, 29, spouse of Noah Puckerman, CPD." He was so much more than that, though. Kurt was the kid in glee club who would never take no for an answer. Kurt was the lost college student Puck had run into two years after high school graduation, drowning his troubles in a flask of peach schnapps. Kurt was the first man Puck had ever seriously dated, and Kurt was the warm body Puck wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life. "Spouse" didn't seem to cover it.

"So far," Agent Kutcher explained, "the only connections we've found between all the victims are the fact that their significant others work in law enforcement."

"Even this Dr. Gerald Sommers?" Puck asked, pointing to the name written under a picture of a pretty blonde woman.

"Yeah," Kutcher nodded. "Dr. Sommers consults for the FBI, acts as an expert witness when someone tries to plead insanity. His wife being taken, along with your husband, really narrowed down the list of possible suspects. We think whoever's been doing this has a grudge against anyone involved in putting him away, including one of the guards at the federal prison where both Wilson and Gardner, as well as most of the felons in this area of the country, were incarcerated."

"Shit," Puck sighed, scratching the short hair on the back of his head, like it would help him think. Kurt always got on his case about it, telling him excess touching of his hair would only make him go bald. Puck always said Kurt was the one with the family history of hair loss, so maybe he should think about that before nagging Puck. Secretly, he always kind of liked it when Kurt nagged him. It let Puck talk back and usually led to flirting and then sex. "How are we doing on tracking down Gardner?"

One of the other agents looked up from his computer and said, "And … we've got an address. Looks current, since he paid his electric bill last week. Let's go."

Puck patted the gun in its holster under his arm and followed the agent back out. He was going to be on the front lines of this thing, no matter what.

* * *

><p>A few hours after Kurt was shoved into the cage, the man came back. Kurt now noticed that he was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, like something you'd wear for working in a shop, like Kurt's dad's, or a factory. He wore heavy work boots caked in mud and that scar across the side of his face was more than distracting. Wordlessly, the man opened the cage door and shoved a box in, closing and locking the door firmly behind it.<p>

After the man had left, Kurt asked, "What's this?" while Ginger crouched down next to the box and started rifling through it.

"Lunch," she replied, tossing Kurt a bottle of water that still had its plastic seal around the mouthpiece. Kurt couldn't even think of eating, especially when Ginger tore into a twinkie like it was heaven on earth, but he decided if he was going to get out, he had to keep his strength up. Keeping that in mind, he opened his water bottle and took a few sips before approaching the box. It was full of sealed food items, which Kurt guessed was to make sure they trusted the food and actually ate. But why keep them fed? Wasn't the man just going to kill them, anyway?

Oh god, what if he wasn't? What if he was going to keep them here, torturing them forever?

No. Not him. Not Kurt Hummel. Deciding to forgo the junk food, Kurt searched the cell until he found a loose wire at the bottom of one of the mesh walls. He couldn't really bend it with his bare hands, but if he took a board from one of the crates they'd been given to sit on, maybe he could push out an escape hatch. It was worth trying, anyway.

Besides, Noah had made him endure hours upon hours of mullet-riddled reruns of MacGyver. Kurt might as well put some of that knowledge to use.

* * *

><p>Gardner was a dead fucking end. They found him stoned out of his mind in his house, clearly involved in nothing more notorious than scamming little old ladies for drug money. A search of the place revealed no hostages, no evidence that Gardner was even capable of kidnapping, and absolutely no Kurt.<p>

"What a fucking waste of time," Puck growled at Moline as they headed back to the guy's cruiser.

* * *

><p><em>Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.<em>


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